


Year Three

by SeeEmRunning



Series: Sam at Hogwarts [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Dementors, Depression, Suicidal ideation is a common thread in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 05:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1806214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeEmRunning/pseuds/SeeEmRunning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's third year at Hogwarts, there are dementors and a convict on the loose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The werewolf lunged at Lianne, claws extended, and Sam shot. He caught it in the side, throwing it off-course enough that its jaws missed Lianne's body, and she got her knife up and into its chest. It fell, twitching, and shimmered back into a man.

"You okay, babe?" Christina asked, her own gun cocked.

"I'm fine," Lianne said, brushing some of the blonde hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ears.

Neither noticed Sam shaking off to the side, hands trembling as he lowered the gun, because the whole scene was too, too familiar. He'd seen it before, way back in February or March, maybe, when he'd been asleep, and the werewolf had had a tuft of white fur on its side and a tree had been forked in two and twisted the halves of the trunk around each other, and those were the kind of details that didn't happen _by accident._ Those were kind of details that happened when somebody was psychic, when somebody had sold their soul to see the future, but Sam _hadn't._ He'd never sold his soul, never even encountered a demon, and yet he'd seen what would happen and prevented it, because what he'd thought was a dream had stayed with him for months, all the way to the last day of August.

He vomited, fear making him sick, because he hadn't - he _couldn't_ \- there was no way he could have known, but he _had_ -

"Hey, hey, Sam-"

No, no, no, this couldn't - how could he - _no_ -

"Sam, look at me," Lianne ordered.

She and Christina were kneeling in front of him, and when had he ended up at the base of a tree?

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"It's okay," Christina said. "Let's just get back to the room, okay?" She and Lianne hauled Sam up; he belatedly realized the body was already burning.

When he got out of the shower that night, Lianne and Christina were waiting for him. Lianne pointed to a chair, and he sat.

"So," Christina said, "what was that all about?"

"We know it wasn't the hunt," Lianne added. "We've taken care of werewolves before, and you were fine then."

Sam swallowed. Should he tell them? They knew about Hogwarts, they knew he was a wizard, and they were fine with it. Would that extend to being psychic?

He must have taken too long, because Christina put a hand on his wrist. "Whatever it is, you can tell us," she said gently.

"I - uh - I might have seen that happen before," he blurted. When neither of them said anything, he took a deep breath, hung his head, and said, "Back in February, I think. I had a dream. The fur - that white on the side of the wolf, and the tree behind you - and I saw it go after you back then, and then it happened tonight."

"You can see the future?" Christina asked. "Wicked!"

Sam glanced up in time to see Lianne whack her shoulder. "Not if he's panicking about it, it's not."

"Yeah, okay."

"You don't mind?" Sam asked timidly.

"Of course not," Lianne said. "We already know you're a wizard. We're taking you to the goddamn train station so you can go to magic school tomorrow. Why would we care that you can see the future?"

"I know - hunters aren't always-" he said jerkily.

" _Oh._ " Christina's grip on his wrist tightened marginally. "We know a little - a _very_ little - about your birth family. Is this about them?"

"No!" Sam said quickly. When both women raised an eyebrow, he slumped and mumbled, "Maybe."

He really didn't like thinking about them in concrete terms. He preferred to remember them in the abstract, as 'family' rather than _family_. It was easier to remember the good times when he didn't have to also remember what happened when he'd misbehaved or accidentally used magic. With the complicated separations in his mind, talking about them was very, very low on his list of preferred activities.

"Sam," Lianne said gently, "we're not them. Whatever they did when they found out you were magic, we're not going to do that."

He could see they were curious. He could see that they wanted to know what, exactly, John and Dean had done. But he just - he couldn't talk about them. He could barely _think_ about them, most days, now that he'd grown up a little and realized just how awful they'd really been to him.

"Thanks," he muttered, not meeting their eyes. "I think I'm gonna go to bed."

Christina withdrew her hand. "Sleep well, Sam."

"You, too. Sweet dreams."  
***  
They reached Kings Cross with twenty minutes to spare the next morning. Unlike the year before, Lianne and Christina entered the station with him and accompanied him to the platform.

Sam caught sight of Ginny, waiting with her family and Hermione in front of the barrier. Two others were just going through. Sam smiled and called, "Ginny!"

She turned, and her face lit up. "Sam!"

The other Weasleys and Hermione called out greetings of their own as they joined them. "Who are these lovely ladies?" one of the twins asked with what he clearly thought was a winning smile.

"I'm Lianne, and this is Christina."

"We're Sam's guardians," Christina continued, slipping her hand into Lianne's. "We thought we'd see him off properly this year."

"I'm Molly Weasley," Ginny's mother said. "Percy - Ginny - you go on through."

Ginny smiled at Sam again and followed her older brother through the barrier.

Mrs. Weasley smiled kindly at him. "Have a good holiday?"

"Yeah, it was nice. You?"

"It was lovely. Hermione, Ron, you next."

The remaining Weasleys went through in pairs; Sam, Lianne, and Christina went through together after they'd all gone. The train's whistle blew the ten-minute warning, and Lianne said, "Remember to write."

"With any luck, you won't have a basilisk this year," Christina added, "but if you need _anything_ , we're a letter away."

"Thanks," Sam said. They hugged each other tightly, and then he got on the train, found his friends in the second-to-last compartment, and waved at the women he'd come to regard as pseudo-aunts as the train lurched forward. They waved back, arms around each other, and then they were out of sight.

"So how was your summer?" Sam asked his friends brightly.

They played Exploding Snap and Gobstones and caught up. Pansy and Theo had gone to France, though not together. Millie had visited family in Spain. Blaise had gone to Scotland to visit kin and tour castles. They didn't ask Sam for details about his summer, knowing that he didn't like to talk about his time away from school.

When they were done with that, talk turned to Sirius Black. "Who?" Sam asked.

"Criminal," Theo said. "Escaped from Azkaban over the summer. No one knows why. They say he was You-Know-Who's biggest supporter, blew thirteen people to smithereens in Muggle London thirteen years ago. Nobody's broken out of there before, and nobody knows how he did it."

The food cart came around just after one. Sam's friends bought a little of everything and shared it around freely, and they had a very enjoyable few hours even as clouds formed overhead and darkened the day prematurely.

Eventually, it was dark enough that the lights came on. "How much longer 'til we're there, does anyone know?" Blaise asked.

Sam checked his watch. "It's only five, so we've got about an hour and a half."

Theo pulled out a board and pieces. "Anyone for chess?"

Blaise had just said, "Pawn to E4," when the train shuddered and started to slow. They looked at each other in confusion; Blaise said, "Sure your watch isn't slow?"

Pansy looked out the window. "The castle's not there. Why are we stopping?"

Sam opened the door to the compartment and looked along the long hallway. All up and down the train, people were doing the same.

Harry was one of them, sticking his head out of the very last compartment. "No idea, then?" he asked Sam.

"Nah. You?"

"No. There's a professor back here - think we should wake him up?"

The train lurched to a standstill. Loud, echoing bangs told Sam that luggage had fallen down, and he spared a moment to be thankful that he'd put his weapons-filled duffel under his seat. At the same time, the lights went out, accompanied by loud screams from excitable students, and Sam said, "That might be a good idea. _Lumos._ " Wand lit, he retreated back into the compartment and said, "You all okay?"

Blaise was swearing and trying futilely to push a trunk off his leg. Sam flicked his wand and mumbled a Levitation Spell, hovering the offending luggage back into its rack. Pansy and Millie did the same with the other two trunks that had fallen out. "You okay?" Sam asked.

"Think it broke my ankle," Blaise said through gritted teeth. Cords of sinew in his neck stood out, highlighted by the sweat that had gathered there.

"There's a teacher in the next carriage," Sam said. "He'll probably know a healing spell. I'll get him."

"Thanks," Blaise said. "And hurry."

Sam was midway between his compartment and Harry's when the air grew very, very cold. The light in his wand went out; his feet seemed to be very heavy.

There was a shuddering breath from something he couldn't see, and Sam's wand clattered uselessly to the floor. What good would it do him down there? What good would _anything_ do him? He was a fucking stupid thirteen-year-old kid who wasn't _clean_ , and he'd never be right, and even Lianne and Christina thought he was useless after last night….

There was someone screaming. The crackling of flames mingled with the screams and gouged out an empty, gaping hole in his chest until he sank into blissfully mild silence.

 _"Sam!_ Sam, are you okay?"

He took a stuttering breath before he dared open his eyes. Millie was leaning over him, eyes wide and scared. An unfamiliar man was on his other side, looking concerned but not panicked. He could hear others out of his line of sight, and he mumbled, "W- Wha- What-"

"It's called a dementor," the man said. "Can you sit up?"

With his help and Millie's, Sam got to an approximation of upright, though he leaned back against the wall, unable to support himself. The man handed him a piece of chocolate and said gently, "Here. It'll help. I need to speak with the driver - I'll be back in a moment." He rose and left, but Millie sat across from him in the hallway.

"The lights are on," he said stupidly, belatedly registering the light.

"Yes," she said. "And we're moving again."

"What happened?"

"I don't know," Millie said. "You went to get the professor for Blaise's ankle, and then it got cold and - and we all felt like - like…" She trailed off, but Sam could fill in the blanks. They'd all felt despair. "When we started moving again we realized you weren't back yet, so I came to get you from the next car, but you were out here, facedown. I yelled for help, and the man came out - I guess he's the professor - and he put you on your back and made sure you were still breathing, and then the lights came on and we started moving, and then you came around-"

"Okay," Sam said gently, getting the picture. "Are you all right?"

"We're fine, we're all fine, it's just-"

The door to the last compartment slid open, and someone said, "Sam?"

Sam looked up into Neville's pale, drawn face. Before he could say anything, Millie snapped, "He's fine, Longbottom."

Neville looked hurt, and Sam said quickly, "Are you okay, Neville?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Harry passed out, though."

"That makes two of us," Sam said. "Anyone else?"

"Not that I know of," he said.

The professor strode back toward them. "Sam? How are you doing?"

Sam didn't question how he knew his name - either Dumbledore had told him of the hunter student or Millie had told him while Sam himself was unconscious. "I'll be fine."

"I haven't poisoned that chocolate," he said quietly, but with good humor. "I want to keep an eye on you until we get to the school, though. Finish that and then come in - I need to check on Harry."

"Okay," Sam agreed submissively. He took a bite and felt surprising warmth flood through him, all the way down to his fingers and toes. 

He finished the block before Millie helped him up and walked with him into the overcrowded carriage. "Want me to stay?" she asked quietly.

"It's fine," he reassured her. "Oh - Blaise's ankle-"

"I fixed that while you were unconscious," the professor said. The battered suitcase at his feet said 'RJ Lupin', which he knew wasn't the name of anyone else in the compartment.

"Thanks."

"We'll be in Hogwarts in five minutes."

Sam looked down at his blue jeans and T-shirt. "I should change."

"You should stay sitting," Lupin corrected.

Sam looked at Millie. "You should change, too."

She made a face, but didn't contest the point. "Sure you'll be okay?"

"I'll be fine, Millie."

She finally left, and Sam leaned his head against the wall tiredly. They finished the ride in silence.

Sam waited for the rest of the students to empty out before he tried to stand. His knees buckled, and he fell back down into the cushion. Lupin offered him a hand and kept hold of his arm until he stopped swaying. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah," Sam muttered, embarrassed. Lupin stayed by his side as they joined the jostling crowd. Sam wiped cold sweat off his face and realized Lupin was carrying an old, patched-up suitcase.

"Hey," Millie said, appearing on his other side. "The others went on ahead - said they'd save spots for us at the feast."

"Thanks," Sam said wanly. 

"You good now?"

"I'm fine," Sam told her, exasperated.

Someone in front of him reached around the person next to him; Sam instinctively took a step back to avoid being hit by the arm and almost fell again. Lupin and Millie both seized an arm before it happened.

"Convincing," Millie said dryly, holding on to him after Lupin let go. Sam did his best to ignore the warmth that spread from her hand - like the chocolate, only warmer and better - but didn't try to dissuade her, either. Millie wasn't small, by any measure, and could easily catch him if he started to tip again.

There was only one carriage left when they reached the line, and so the three of them shared it. Sam didn't get a chance to pat the thestral with Millie holding on to him, but that was okay.

The ride passed in silence but for the creaking of the carriage. Next to them, the scenery changed from grass to forest to grass again. Soon after the forest ended, the castle gates rose up. There were two tall, cloaked beings at either side of the gate, and Sam closed his eyes and suppressed a whimper when emotion swamped him. His fingers itched to take the knife in his waistband and just-

Millie took his hand, which made Sam realize he was shaking. The feeling abated somewhat, and he opened his eyes to find both Lupin and Millie looking at him worriedly. He squeezed Millie's hand and smiled weakly at Lupin in reassurance. Lupin smiled back kindly.

The carriage ground to a halt. Lupin was first out, and then he turned to make sure Sam got down all right. He had a death grip on the railings, but he did get to the ground without falling. Millie came down much more quickly than Sam himself had and took his hand again. Lupin half-smiled when he saw it, and they both blushed and looked away from each other.

They were barely inside the foyer when a voice rapped out, "Winchester!"

It was McGonagall. Sam disentangled himself from Millie and moved to join Harry and Hermione, who were standing by their professor's side. The woman hadn't changed in the short months of summer; her hair was still in its tight bun, her square glasses were the same as they'd been since their first year, and she was wearing the emerald robes she favored for special occasions.

"There's no need to look worried," she said briskly. "I just want a word in my office."

McGonagall ushered them up the steps. Sam needed to hold tightly to the railing to get up them without falling, and his head was swimming by the time he reached the top of the flight. He paused, leaning against the wall until he caught his breath and the dizziness passed. Then he rejoined the group, which had paused a little way down the hallway to wait for him. "Sorry," he muttered.

"It's quite all right," McGonagall told him, though she looked a little surprised. Right - he'd killed a basilisk at the end of the year before, nearly dying in the process, and now he could barely climb fifteen stairs. What was _wrong_ with him?

McGonagall told them to sit when they got to her office. She settled herself behind her desk and said, "Professor Lupin sent an owl ahead to say that you were taken ill on the train."

Sam and Harry glanced at each other uneasily, but before either could say anything, there was a knock on the door. Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse, came in without waiting for a reply.

Harry went red. "I'm fine," he said quickly, "I don't need anything-"

"Oh, it's you, is it?" Pomfrey bent over to get a closer look at him. "I suppose you've been doing something dangerous again? And you, Winchester? Granger?"

"It was a dementor, Poppy," McGonagall said. "Miss Granger was mostly unaffected."

"And you, Winchester?" Pomfrey asked.

"He was ill, too," McGonagall said before Sam could answer.

Pomfrey harrumphed and put a hand on each of their foreheads. "Setting dementors around a school," she muttered. "They won't be the last ones to collapse." She switched to take Sam's pulse. "Yes, they're both clammy. Terrible things, they are, and the effect they have on people who are already delicate -"

"I'm not delicate," Harry interrupted.

"Of course you're not," Pomfrey said absentmindedly, taking Harry's pulse now.

"What do they need?" McGonagall asked. "Bed rest? Should they perhaps spend tonight in the hospital wing?"

"I’m _fine!_ " Harry cried, jumping to his feet.

"Well, they should have some chocolate, at the very least," said Pomfrey, looking at Sam's eyes.

"I've already had some," Harry said resentfully. "Professor Lupin gave it to us on the train."

"And you?" Pomfrey asked Sam.

Sam nodded, and his head swam again. "Professor Lupin gave me some, too."

"Are you sure you feel all right, Potter?" McGonagall asked.

_"Yes."_

"Winchester?"

"M'fine," Sam said.

"Very well, then. Kindly wait outside while I have a quick word with Miss Granger about her course schedule. Then we can go down to the feast together."

Sam, Harry, and Pomfrey all left the room. As soon as Pomfrey was out of sight, Sam crossed his arms, leaned back against the wall, and closed his eyes. He was unbelievably tired, and he wanted nothing more than the warm, comfortable bed that he knew was waiting for him in his dormitory.

He was so busy longing for sleep he didn't notice when McGonagall and Hermione came out of her office until McGonagall said sharply, "Winchester, are you _quite sure_ you're all right?"

He shook himself out of his half-asleep stupor and said, "Yeah. Yeah, Professor, I'm fine."

She didn't look entirely convinced, but she also didn't call for Pomfrey, so Sam counted that as a win. He followed them down to the Great Hall, which they entered just as Flitwick carried the Sorting Hat out of the Hall.

"Oh," Hermione said, sounding horribly disappointed, "we've missed the Sorting!"

"Eh, we've got four more," Sam said with a shrug. They split, Harry and Hermione to the Gryffindor table on the left side of the Hall, McGonagall going straight ahead to the teacher's table, Sam turning right to reach the Slytherins. His friends had saved them a seat between Blaise and the new first-years, and he smiled at them. "Hello," he said with forced cheer.

"Sam!" Theo said, eyes lighting up. "You all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he reassured them. His head spun again when he tried to lift his leg over the bench, and he grabbed Blaise's shoulder to steady himself. "Sorry."

"It's fine," Blaise said, standing so he had a little more room to maneuver.

"Thanks."

Sam knew they were making a bit of a scene, but he was too tired to care. When Blaise had settled back in beside him, Dumbledore stood. "Welcome! Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast!"

Dumbledore cleared his throat before he continued. "As you will be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business. They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds, and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave the school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises - or even Invisibility Cloaks. It is not in the nature of a dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the dementors.

"On a happier note, I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year." He did look quite a bit happier than he had when discussing the dementors; was that because he disliked dementors, or because he disliked the Ministry of Magic being involved in the school?

"First, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Lupin stood, and Sam clapped hard, as did his friends in Slytherin, the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione. The rest of the school was more lackluster. Draco just sneered up at the table.

Snape, too, was sneering. They were about the same age - had they gone to school together?

"As to our second new appointment," Dumbledore continued. "Well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to spend more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties."

Sam clapped, though he was by far the most enthusiastic of his friends. Draco looked at him condescendingly, and Sam resisted the urge to smack him in the back of the head.

"Well, I think that's everything of importance," Dumbledore said. "Let the feast begin!"

Food appeared on the plates before them. The first-year next to him jumped, and Sam automatically put an arm behind him to keep him from falling. "You good?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Awesome," Sam said, and served himself mashed potatoes. He also poured himself a glass of something brown and steaming that he assumed was hot chocolate. Normally the sweetness would set his teeth on edge, but he remembered how the chocolate had made him feel better on the train.

"I can't believe they made that bumbling oaf a teacher," Draco sneered.

Sam rolled his eyes. "It's too early for this, Draco. Hagrid knows what he's doing."

"How would you know?"

"Because I talk to him sometimes on my morning runs," Sam said patiently. Anger would do nothing but give Draco more ammunition. "God knows he's going to start off with something incredibly dangerous, but he knows how to handle things."

"What about Lupin, then?" Draco said. "From the state of him, he hasn't had a job in his life."

"Shut up, Draco," Millie snapped. "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all."

Draco looked at her, shocked. Sam tried to remember if Millie had ever said anything to him in that tone of voice before and came up blank.

"So," Pansy said, voice strained. "Did anyone see Ireland against Bulgaria this summer? They're saying those two teams might go all the way to the World Cup this season."

Talk turned to Quidditch, and discussion of the professors was forgotten. When they were dismissed, one of the prefects who came to get the first-years told Sam, "Password's hippogriff."

"Thanks," Sam said, but she was already gone.


	2. Boggarts and Talons and Tea Leaves, Oh My!

Sam felt much better when he woke up the next morning, though the cold filled his chest again the moment he stepped out the front doors to go on his run. He retreated to the dormitory, in a foul mood but physically well. He worked off some of his temper in the common room by working his body in ways other than running, and had calmed down by the time the rest of his house began to wake. The scaldingly hot water of the shower helped drain away the rest of it, tiny pinpricks of pain drawing him out of his head. By the time they went up to breakfast, Sam was calm again.

Snape came down to pass around schedules near the end of the meal. "See me after class," he ordered Sam when he gave over his schedule.

"Yes, sir."

Snape moved on, and Sam looked down at his schedule. He had Arithmancy with all the other houses on Monday and Friday, followed by Divination with the Ravenclaws and Care of Magical Creatures with Gryffindor. On Mondays, Creatures would be followed by Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws, but on Friday he would have Charms with the Hufflepuffs. Tuesday would begin with Potions followed by Transfiguration, but Thursday would have double Potions. Tuesday afternoon was for double Defense, Thursday for Herbology and then Defense. Astronomy was also on Thursday and would be held at midnight. Wednesday began with Herbology, then History of Magic, and then Creatures and Charms after lunch.

"Herbology first," Sam said.

"Yeah," Millie said gloomily. "And then history after. The two worst subjects to begin the day with."

"I don't mind Herbology," Sam said. "But god, I can't _wait_ to drop history."

"Nobody can," Theo said. "C'mon, let's get down to the greenhouses."

The cold filled Sam again the moment he stepped outside, and the closer he got to the greenhouses, the worse he felt. If the dementors were spaced evenly around the school's perimeter, it boded ill for his year.

Theo slung a companionable arm around his shoulder, which helped chase away the chill a little. Sam managed a wavery smile for him, grateful for the warmth.

"Greenhouse three today," Sprout said cheerfully when she saw them. "Venomous Tentacula review, you know, just to make sure you haven't forgotten everything over the summer."

They filed in quietly. "You okay now?" Theo asked quietly.

"Yeah, thanks," Sam said, just as quiet. "Might ask you to do that again later, though."

"Not a problem." He smiled, and something fluttered in Sam's chest.

When they left, Theo put his arm back around Sam's shoulders, and they got back to the castle with a minimum amount of self-loathing on Sam's part.

History of Magic sent them all into a stupor for the two hundred fifteenth class in a row, and then it was time for lunch. When they rose from the table, Millie took Sam's hand for the walk out to Hagrid's cabin for Care of Magical Creatures.

Hagrid was waiting in front of his cabin for them, Fang the boarhound sitting behind him. When the dog saw Sam, he whuffed and bounded over so Sam would scratch his ears. When Sam did, the dog pushed its head into his leg and leaned against him adoringly.

"Alrigh' there, Sam?" Hagrid asked.

"I'm doin' fine, and you?"

"I bin good. Erryone here? All righ', then, hurry up, c'mon, get a move on! Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson' comin' up. C'mon, follow me."

Hagrid led them around his cabin and along the tree line. Fang kept pace with Sam, on the opposite side of him from Millie, and kept nudging his hand so Sam would keep petting him. Sam performed the chore happily until Hagrid stopped five minutes later outside a fenced-in field. "Everyone gather 'round the fence here," he called. Millie and Sam moved forward as instructed. The cold was growing through Sam's chest - they were near the edge of the ground, close to the dementors. He squeezed Millie's hand, and she squeezed back. "That's it," Hagrid called. "Make sure yeh can see - now, firs' thing yeh'll want ter do is open yer books-"

"How?" Draco interrupted.

"Eh?" Hagrid said blankly.

"How do we open our books?" he repeated, pulling out his copy of _The Monster Book of Monsters_ , which was shut tightly with rope. Sam pulled out his own copy with one hand - he'd wrapped a thick length of chain around it and padlocked it after it had broken one of his fingers. Other students had used belts or binder clips to hold theirs closed. Millie and Pansy had both used sheer scarves.

"Hasn' - hasn' anyone bin able ter open their books?" Hagrid asked. When everyone shook their heads, he said, "Yeh've got ter _stroke_ 'em - look -" He took Hermione's book from her hands and pulled off the tape. Hermione seemed only too happy to let him take the book off her. Hagrid ran a finger down the book's spine, making it shiver and fall open to lay docilely in his shovel-sized hand.

"Oh, how silly we've all been!" Draco cried. "We should have _stroked_ them! Why didn't we guess?"

"I - I thought they were funny," Hagrid said quietly to Hermione.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said.

"Righ' then," said Hagrid. "So - so yeh've got yer books an' - an' now yeh need the magical creatures. Yeah. So I'll go an' get 'em. Hang on." He hurried into the forest.

"God, this place is going to the dogs," Draco said loudly. "That oaf teach-"

"Oh, shut up," Sam interrupted irritably. "You've never even _talked_ to him."

Draco's eyes took on a wild look, and for a moment, Sam wasn't sure what would happen. Would the other boy attack him?

"Ooh, look!" Lavender Brown, one of the Gryffindors, said loudly. The class turned to see Hagrid leading a dozen - _things_ with the front half and wings of an eagle and the bottom and back of a horse. Their beaks were the color of Sam's iron knife, the eyes a striking orange that reminded him uncomfortably of fire. The claws were six inches long and looked wickedly sharp, an observation borne out by how the ground churned beneath their feet. Each of them were collared with leather and leashed with thick steel chain, the ends of which were held by Hagrid jogging along beside.

"Gee up there," he bellowed, shaking the chains. He tethered them to the fence the students were standing near; everyone fell back a few steps.

"Hippogriffs!" Hagrid said happily. "Beau'iful, aren' they?"

Sam's first, immediate response was _No._ They weren't. There was a look of animal cruelty in their eyes, as there was in werewolves and chimera. The occamy Sam had hunted the previous summer with Lianne and Christina, as well, though that particular creature's eyes had been far above Sam's head.

"So," Hagrid continued, "if yeh wan' ter come a bit nearer? Firs' thing to know abou' hippogriffs is, they're proud. Easily offended, hippogriffs are. Don't never insult one, 'cause it might be the las' thing yeh do."

Draco was whispering to Crabbe and Goyle behind Sam, and irritation rushed through him. He was almost positive Draco was planning how to screw Hagrid over, get him fired if at all possible, and Sam wouldn't let that happen. He carefully pulled his hand away from Millie's, alert and ready to throw a punch if necessary. The cold spread, seeping into his bones, and he used it as fuel for his anger. Something was affecting him without his consent - he would make them all pay.

"Yeh always wait fer the hippogriff ter make the firs' move. It's polite, see," Hagrid explained. "Yeh walk toward him, and yeh bow, an' yeh wait. If he bows back, yeh're allowed ter touch him. If he doesn' bow, then get away from him sharpish, 'cause those talons hurt. Right - who wants ter go first?"

Most people backed farther away. Sam could hear Draco sniggering behind him, and he barely recognized his voice when he said, "I'll go."

"Sam," Millie whispered.

Sam ignored her, climbing over the paddock fence easily. They were a lot bigger on this side, but Sam didn't care. A sort of recklessness had seized him up, and screw it, he was riding this to the last stop. His blood was pounding in his ears. 

"Good man, Sam," Hagrid said happily. "Right then - let's see how yeh get on with Buckbeak."

He pulled the gray hippogriff away from its fellows and slipped the collar off. Sam approached slowly, but deliberately, and when he was five feet away, he drew to a halt and looked at the animal.

"Easy now, Sam," Hagrid said quietly. "Try not ter blink, they don' trust yeh if yeh blink too much."

The hippogriff met his eye and Sam sketched a bow, not breaking the eye contact. Buckbeak shied, and Hagrid said hurriedly, "Back away, Sam - back away -"

Sam had taken just two steps back when Buckbeak sank down to his scaly knees in a bow.

"Well done, Sam!" Hagrid cried. "You can touch him - pat his beak, go on."

Still filled with the strange recklessness, Sam stepped forward and put a hand on his beak, a sort of vague disappointment that all had gone well seeping through him. He'd been itching for _something_ to happen, something to get his blood up and make him _run_ , make him _fight_ , and instead he petting one of Hagrid's herd animals. Buckbeak closed his eyes and lazily butted his hand, much as Fang had earlier, and some of the disappointment receded. What was _wrong_ with him? Even if things had gone horribly wrong, he wouldn't have been able to do anything without revealing his training, and therefore his status as a hunter, to the rest of the school. It was a lose-lose situation.

"Righ' then," Hagrid said happily. "I reckon he migh' let yeh ride him!"

"What?" Sam blurted, dropping his hand to his side. The recklessness returned - yeah, he was no great shake on a broom, but this wasn't a broom, was it? "Where do I get on?" he asked.

"Yeh climb up here, jus' behind the wing joint. And don' pull any feathers, he won' like that."

Sam slung himself onto Buckbeak's back and instantly wondered if he was making a mistake. Buckbeak was large, at this angle, and his legs were spread awkwardly.

"Go on, then," Hagrid said, slapping the hippogriff's haunch. Twelve-foot wings flapped open on either side, and Sam lurched forward to wrap his arms around the animal's neck. Buckbeak took off, the wings jostling Sam's legs uncomfortably. He was rocked back and forth, and after a moment, Sam dared to sit up, putting a hand on Buckbeak's head for stability. Buckbeak tossed his head, and when Sam reached around his neck to resume his earlier grip, tossed his head again in an unmistakable demand for Sam to put his hand back on his head. Sam did as instructed, daring to scratch him a little bit. It wasn't so bad, up here, with the wings pushing him back and forth.

Buckbeak flew him twice around the field before he landed. Sam gritted his teeth and just tried not to fall off when Buckbeak's feet hit the ground.

All of his class but Draco burst into applause and cheers. "Good work, Sam!" Hagrid said. "Okay, who else wants a go?"

Millie, Pansy, and Theo took over Buckbeak; Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle were next to them with a reddish one named Russet. Sam leaned against the fence between the two, eyes closed, trying to tamp down the anger and recklessness and sheer _desperation_ that had returned as soon as he'd stopped touching Buckbeak.

Why, though? He forced his mind to turn to his problem instead of looking for a fight. Why did touching someone - or some _thing_ \- curb the worst of the urge to do something to hurt himself or someone else?

"You're not dangerous at all, are you?" Sam heard Draco drawl, and he immediately straightened up to move closer to him and Russet. "Are you, you great ugly-"

He didn’t get any further, because Sam saw the hippogriff start to rear and tackled the blond before it could complete its lunge. It caught Sam instead, claws ripping deep into his back, and Sam had to scream. Someone pulled the hippogriff back, and then Draco shoved Sam off of him. Sam screamed again; it was pain, it was agony, it was the basilisk fang all over again, only in his back instead of his leg, and there was _dirt_ , oh, shit, dirt was getting in, _shit_ -

Someone picked him up and started running, and the jostling made Sam scream once more before he mercifully lost consciousness.  
***  
He woke to the now-familiar aftertaste of a painkilling potion and voices talking quietly. He peeled his eyes open to see all of the second-year Slytherins save Draco sitting around his bed.

"You're awake," Pansy said, relieved. "I'll get Pomfrey."

Sam rubbed his eyes and eased himself to sitting. Millie and Theo instantly started arranging pillows so he could sit comfortably. "Hey," Millie said quietly.

"Hey," he said back. "Bet you're tired of seeing me in here, huh?"

She slapped his shoulder lightly. "Don’t you start."

Pomfrey bustled over before he could answer. "Awake, are you?" she asked crisply. "What were you _thinking_ , getting in a hippogriff's way?"

"Uh," Sam said intelligently.

Pomfrey took his pulse. "Not enough for there to be dementors, you have to be hit by a hippogriff, too. Your first day! Your spine was _shredded_ , young man, you're lucky there wasn't permanent damage. You'll need to stay overnight to repair the destroyed discs."

"What time is it?" he asked. Pomfrey put her hand on his forehead for a beat, then stepped back.

"Little after nine," Blaise supplied.

"So you guys need to go soon." Curfew was at ten.

"Indeed," a deep, familiar voice said. Sam's heart sank as he looked over Theo's head to see Snape looking disapproving.

"Oh - Professor," Pansy said, flustered.

"Leave," he ordered. The other students scattered, sending him sympathetic looks before the door to the hospital wing boomed closed. Pomfrey, too, retreated into her office. Snape sat in one of the visitors' chairs and said, "So."

"So," Sam echoed stupidly.

"What made you think getting in front of an angry hippogriff was a good idea?" Snape asked tightly.

Sam swallowed. "I don't - I just acted on instinct," he admitted quietly.

"Instinct," Snape repeated, making it sound like a curse word.

"I've been pushing other people out of harm's way since I was seven," Sam said quietly. "I can't turn that off."

"You must," Snape said firmly. "The basilisk last year, the hippogriff today, the troll your first year - you _must_ refrain from risking your life to save others from what would likely have been minor injuries. You must, at the very least, become _smarter_ about it. Use your mind rather than your body."

Sam didn't tell him that stopping to think in a dangerous situation could literally result in somebody being killed. Snape knew that as well as Sam did. The difference was that Snape placed a higher value on Sam's life than on someone he didn't know, and Sam placed a higher value on whomever he was protecting.

Snape sighed and steepled his fingers. "I also wished to speak with you about the dementors."

Sam picked nervously at the sheets as Snape went on, "Dementors work by creating major depression in those around them. They draw on their victims' memories to create the illusion that happiness will never return. It is _only_ an illusion. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Sam said.

"With your history, you have more memories to draw on than most and so your reaction is heightened," Snape continued. "As such, I do not want you to leave the castle without a friend nearby who can get help if required. I would also advise asking your Defense teacher to teach you the Patronus charm, which will repel the dementors, and to regularly engage in activities that bring you happiness. That means you do not work yourself to death over library books, understood?"

"Yes, sir," Sam said again. This was not the first time Snape had chastised him for his time spent in the library.

"I will also see to it there is a supply of chocolate in the common room. All of the house will partake, but you are to have some every day. If you find yourself unable to concentrate, sleeping or eating poorly, or failing coursework you would have otherwise passed, you are to come to me or Madam Pomfrey."

"Yes, sir."

Snape stood. "I will see you in class tomorrow morning."  
***  
When morning dawned, Millie and Theo brought him his bag and walked him down to breakfast after Pomfrey grumpily declared him well enough to leave, provided he didn't overexert his back. Sam had no interest in bringing back the pain of the day before, and he agreed easily to her conditions - which, to Theo and Millie, apparently translated to refusing to let him carry his own books.

Even though they weren't outside, Theo put an arm around his shoulders and Millie took his hand. Sam put an arm around Theo's waist, and the warmth pressed against his left side and right hand was better than chocolate spreading through his veins. They stayed close to him throughout breakfast and on the walk to the dungeons. The other third-year Slytherins stayed near him, too, but Theo and Millie refused to let go of him. Affection bubbled in his chest. He was so lucky to have such good friends.

After the end of last year, peace had reigned in the Slytherin/Gryffindor Potions class. Sam hadn't been sure how that would translate to this year, but was relieved to find it hadn't changed. "How are you?" Lavender Brown asked.

Sam smiled at her. "I'll be fine by the end of the day," he told her.

"How bad?" Ron asked, brown eyes shining with curiosity.

"Bad enough," Sam said vaguely. "Anyone know what we're doing today?"

Everyone shook their heads, even Draco, who wouldn't meet Sam's eyes. Mercifully, Snape opened the door to the classroom before any more questions could be asked and curtly ordered, "Inside."

They filed in, Theo and Millie separating from Sam. They settled into the back right table, as they usually did, and Theo put Sam's bag on the table. Blaise joined them and touched Sam's shoulder. "Glad you're okay," he said quietly.

Snape called the class to order, took roll, and gave a fifteen-minute lecture on Shrinking Solution - the antidote to the Swelling Solution Hermione had made explode the year before. He flicked his wand, making the instructions appear on the board, and sat at his desk with a stack of papers in front of him.

Sam started skinning a shrivelfig while Blaise cut up daisy roots into quarter-inch cubes. Someone had carved a ruler into the edge of the desk at some point in time, making the task easier than it would have otherwise been. When reached for his own roots, Blaise stilled his hand. "I'll get your roots if you'll get my shrivelfig," he said quietly.

It was nothing more than a face-saving way for Sam to avoid the force needed to cut through woody plant matter, and they both knew it. Sam also knew that cutting roots might hurt, and inside the castle, he wasn't keen for more pain. "Thanks," he said, reaching for Blaise's shrivelfig.

They worked like this for a little while, Blaise taking the labor-intensive parts of the potion and occasionally getting help from Theo or Millie while Sam took care of the potion itself and the easier tasks for Blaise and the girls. Snape glanced over occasionally, but it wasn't until he was doing his rounds halfway through the period that he stopped to talk to them.

"Division of labor is generally not encouraged," he told them.

"His back, sir," Blaise said earnestly. "Madam Pomfrey said it wouldn't be fully healed until tonight. He shouldn't be cutting hard things until tomorrow at least."

Snape nodded curtly and looked at Sam piercingly. Almost instantly a headache spiked, and Sam looked down and away, squinting against the pain. It was gone as soon as he looked away. _Weird._

Snape touched his shoulder once, gently and discreetly, before he swept away to examine the other potions. Sam stirred his and Blaise's three times counterclockwise and lowered the heat.

"Orange, Longbottom," Snape said suddenly. Sam turned to see him drawing a potion from Neville's cauldron, letting it splash back down so everyone could see. "Orange. Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Didn't you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one rat spleen was needed? Didn't I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?"

Neville was shaking, tears in his eyes as he stared down at his lap. Sam's own hands curled into fists. He'd spent enough time with Snape to know that the man had _major_ baggage, and while he could be kind, he could also be a complete _dick._

"Please, sir," Hermione piped up, and Sam winced. Two full years she'd had Snape, and still she thought speaking up would work out well for her. "Please, I could help Neville put it right-"

"I don't remember asking you to show off, Miss Granger," Snape said coldly. "Longbottom, at the end of this lesson we will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly."

Sam traded wide-eyed looks with Blaise. They both knew Snape could be cruel, but to threaten to poison someone's pet was forcing them to revise just _how_ cruel they thought he could be.

Minutes later Snape called, "You should have finished adding your ingredients by now. This potion needs to stew before it can be drunk, so clear away while it simmers and then we'll test Longbottom's."

Draco sniggered, but he was the only one. The rest of the class packed up their supplies and went to wash their hands at the back of the room. Sam could hear Harry and Ron muttering about Sirius Black and chose not to eavesdrop. Whatever trouble they created this year, Sam wanted nothing to do with it. He'd already died for Harry once and had risked his life for the both of them; he had no desire to repeat either experience. He washed his hands and returned to his table, where the cauldrons were gently simmering.

"Everyone gather 'round," Snape said, now standing next to Neville's cauldron, "and watch what happens to Longbottom's toad. If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don't doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned."

Snape picked up a spoon and filled it with Neville's potion, which was now the proper green. Sam hoped Snape would back out if he saw something wrong, prayed to anyone listening that if the consistency was off Snape would content himself with yelling at Neville and _not_ killing an animal.

The fact that he had to _pray_ that one of his teachers wouldn't kill a student's pet was so, _so_ messed up. Unbidden, the memory of the man telling him he was an abomination popped into his head. He shook it off.

Snape poured a few drops of the potion down the toad's throat. It gulped, and then a tadpole sat in Snape's palm. Snape pulled out a bottle from his robes and dripped a few drops onto the tadpole's back as the Gryffindors cheered, and the tadpole turned back into a frog.

"Five points from Gryffindor," Snape announced. "I _told_ you not to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed."

They hurried out of the room, Theo carrying Sam's bag. None of them were eager to stay with a foul-tempered Snape.

Defense, which they had directly after lunch, proved to be interesting almost immediately. Lupin was waiting for them in the classroom, and when they had all filed in, he said cheerfully, "Don't bother sitting. Today's will be a practical lesson, and you will need only your wands. If you'll follow me?"

He led them to the staff room. The Slytherins exchanged excited looks - never before had they been granted a practical Defense lesson, instead having to sit through stuttered-out or self-aggrandizing lectures from Quirrell or Lockhart. Draco still refused to look at Sam.

When they were ensconced inside the staff room and the door had been closed behind them, Lupin said, "So! Today we're doing boggarts."

As if to punctuate his words, the wardrobe the teachers used to store spare robes rattled and banged against the wall. Draco had gone bone-white, as had the others who had been raised in wizard households. Sam's interest peaked.

"Boggarts like dark enclosed spaces," Lupin continued. "Wardrobes, gaps beneath beds, sink cupboards. I once saw one that had moved inside a grandfather clock. This one moved in yesterday, and the headmaster agreed to let me use it to teach you all. The first question we must ask is, what _is_ a boggart?"

They glanced at each other uneasily for a moment before Millie put up her hand. "It takes the form of whatever you fear most."

Oh _shit._

"Correct. So the boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears. That means that in a group this size, we have an advantage. Has anyone spotted it yet?"

Sam considered for a moment before he put up his hand. "It won't know what to become?"

"Right. It's always best to have company when dealing with a boggart because he will become confused. Should he become a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I once saw a boggart try to make that decision, and he turned himself into half a slug." Sam smiled at the thought.

"The charm that repels a boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, the thing that really finishes a boggart is _laughter._ What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amusing. We will practice the charm without wands first. After me, please. _Riddikulus!_ "

 _"Riddikulus,"_ the class repeated.

"This class is ridiculous," Sam heard Draco mutter to Crabbe.

"Good," said Lupin brightly. "Very good. But that was the easy part, I'm afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. Let's see...Millicent, if you would be so kind as to help me with a demonstration?"

Millie glanced around nervously but stepped forward anyway. Sam flashed her an encouraging smile.

"First things first, Millicent," Lupin said cheerfully. "What would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?"

Millie licked her lips, clearly thinking, and then said, "Death," very softly.

"The death of someone in particular?" Lupin prodded. "Or death in general?"

"In general."

"Then the boggart will likely take the form of your own corpse," Lupin said delicately. "How could you make that funny?"

"How could I make my _dead body_ into something funny?" Millie repeated incredulously.

Lupin smiled. "I know. But in order to defeat a boggart, you must be able to find humor in the darkest of situations. How could it be funny?"

"Um - clown make-up?" Millie guessed, glancing at the rest of her class like they'd be able to help. Sam was just as lost as she. He'd seen more corpses in his time than he'd care to remember, and not one of them had been funny. For a moment, he struggled to breathe, the room floating out of focus to be replaced by the bodies of people and monsters he'd killed or desecrated.

He pulled himself back when the wardrobe gave another loud _bang_ , as though it was trying to force itself open. Lupin was standing next to it, telling Millie, "Remember, focus on clown make-up and dancing." He looked at the rest of the class. "If Millicent is successful, the boggart will likely turn its attentions to each of us in turn. I would like all of you to take a moment now to think of the thing that scares you most, and imagine how you might force it to look comical."

The basilisk sprang to Sam's mind, phantom pain radiating up his leg from where he'd been bitten the year before, and he swallowed hard. Maybe if he made it tie itself into a knot? Yes, that would work, with a ridiculous bow on top and the fangs tied to the center of it.

"Everyone ready?" Lupin asked, glancing around. When they all nodded, he opened the wardrobe and Millie's bloody corpse fell out to thud heavily to the floor, wide eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling.

" _R- Riddikulus,_ " she squeaked. With a sharp crack, the body rose, make-up and a red nose appearing on its face, and began to do a jig. Millie laughed shakily. The dancing paused, and Lupin called, "Malfoy, forward!"

Draco walked forward arrogantly, and with another loud crack, the corpse changed to a hooded figure with silver pouring from its mouth. " _Riddikulus,_ " Draco drawled, and the figure was tangled in its robes and falling to the ground. Draco let out a 'Ha!' and darted back to the relative safety of his classmates.

"Pansy," Lupin barked, and Pansy took three steps forward. Another crack, and there was a vampire, fangs fully extended from its pallid face; Pansy changed it into a stuffed bat.

"Vincent," Lupin said, and Crabbe stepped forward. It changed into a mummy, which fell over its unraveling bandages; Goyle's snake tied itself into a bow. Sam clearly wasn't as imaginative as he'd thought.

Theo's wailing banshee was dispatched when her hair pulled her into flight. Blaise turned his acromantula into a whistling teapot, and then it was Sam's turn. He stepped forward, fixing the image of a basilisk tied into a bow in his head, and had a moment of confusion when a basilisk didn't appear.

His father, however, did. 

He looked no different from how Sam had seen him last, three years before, except that his eyes were bright yellow. The man grinned and looked at the ceiling; Sam followed his gaze to see Lianne, Christina, and Dean pinned there, stomachs bleeding freely. They burst into flame, and Sam stumbled back and fell, fear turning his knees weak. They were _screaming_ , animal cries of fear and pain and despair, and this was so far from what Sam had thought it would be his brain short-circuited. He'd been told how his mother died when he was six, and his father had spared no detail, forcing Sam to listen to every bit of grisly information he'd chosen to impart in an attempt to scare Sam straight and get him on the revenge bandwagon. He couldn't look away from the ceiling, watching his brother and the women he loved burn to cinders.

 _"Flipendo,"_ Lupin said firmly, and the fire disappeared. Sam buried his head in his knees, shaking hard in the complete silence. He barely noticed Lupin shepherding his classmates outside before sitting in front of him.

"What did you think it would be?" Lupin asked at last.

"Basilisk," Sam croaked, still shaking.

"Who was that man?"

"Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter." Sam swiped a hand across his forehead, clearing off the fear-sweat. "Herbology next. I should - I should get Herbology. Get _to_ Herbology, I mean." He laughed, high-pitched and short.

"Your next class isn't for twenty minutes." There was a pause, and then Lupin said, "I must admit, I expected something very different for your boggart."

"Why?"

"Dumbledore told me what you do over the summer. I thought maybe it would one of the things you've faced."

"It was," Sam admitted weakly. Then he chuckled. "What a first week this is turning out to be."

"Yes, I heard about the hippogriff. It's certainly been eventful."  
***  
Sam was the only Slytherin to take Arithmancy, so on Friday morning he set off alone. He'd rejoin all but Millie and Crabbe for Divination afterward, and then they all had Care of Magical Creatures with the Gryffindors followed by Charms.

There were four others waiting outside the room - Hermione, a Hufflepuff Sam couldn't place, and two Ravenclaws, Terry Boot and Lisa Turpin.

"Hi," Hermione said cheerfully.

"Morning, Hermione," he answered.

"How are you? After the hippogriff?"

"I'm fine. Pomfrey fixed me up all right," he reassured her.

She smiled. "Good."

"Wait, _you're_ the one who had the hippogriff?" Terry Boot blurted.

"I am indeed." Sam rolled his shoulders. 

Before there was any more time for conversation, the door opened, and a tall, thin woman with a widow's peak of jet-black hair surveyed them all before stepping back to let them in.

The classroom was set up differently, with one long table rather than individual desks. Sam sat on the end closest to the door, next to Hermione. The woman waited until they were settled to say, "I am Professor Vector, your professor for Arithmancy. This class will teach you how to manage the energies necessary to create new spells and to identify existing ones. The first thing needed for this class are these equations" - she flicked her wand at the board, which filled with complicated formulae instantly - "which we will first explore with examples."

When they were released, Sam hurried up to the North Tower for Divination. The rest of the class, a mixed bag of Slytherin and Ravenclaw, was already there. As Sam climbed up the last step, a silver ladder fell to the middle of the round room. Sam went up last, and it was one of the most bizarre classrooms he'd ever seen. Twenty or so small, round tables surrounded by recliners and beanbag chairs had been shoved inside. The curtains were closed tightly, but there was a fire burning incense and heating a large copper pot. The lamps were swathed in translucent maroon scarves, which had to be a fire hazard, and the shelves running around the interior of the round room were cluttered with candle stubs, card decks, feathers, crystal balls, and more teacups than anyone could ever need.

"The hell?" Blaise whispered at Sam's elbow.

"Welcome," a new voice said. "How nice to see you in the physical world at last."

A woman moved out of the darkness. She was unnaturally thin, and the glasses that made her eyes look larger than her head didn't help matters. A collection of shiny and tarnished chains dotted with beads and amulets hung from her neck to rest on a gauzy, eye-catching shawl. Her hands and wrists, too, had more than their fair share of jewelry. Sam was impressed the woman could lift her arms.

"Sit, my children, sit," she urged. Sam found a place at a table with Theo, Pansy, and Blaise. Their knees knocked under the table and they arranged themselves to give everyone's legs some space.

"Welcome to Divination," the woman began from her seat in an armchair just in front of the fire. "My name is Professor Trelawney. You may not have seen me before. I find that descending too often into the hustle and bustle of the main school clouds my Inner Eye.

"So you have chosen to study Divination, the most difficult of all magical arts. I must warn you at the outset that if you do not have the Sight, there is very little I will be able to teach you. Books will only take you so far in this field."

Sam flashed on his nightmares in years prior, when he'd seen the Chamber of Secrets before he'd even known it had existed, or when he'd seen Lianne being attacked by the werewolf in February though it hadn't happened until August. Was that what Trelawney meant by 'the Sight'?

"Many witches and wizards," Trelawney continued, "talented though they are in the area of loud bangs and smells and sudden disappearings, are yet unable to penetrate the veiled mysteries of the future. It is a Gift granted to few. You, boy," she added to a Ravenclaw. "Is your mother well?"

"Yes," the boy answered instantly.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, dear. We will be covering the basic methods of Divination this year, beginning with tea leaves in the first term and moving to palmistry in the second. By the way," she said to Theo, "beware a brunet boy."

Theo looked at Sam and raised his eyebrows. Sam shrugged back.

"In the second term, we shall progress to the crystal ball if we have finished with fire omens. Unfortunately, classes will be interrupted in February due to the flu. I myself shall lose my voice. I wonder," she said to Sam, "if you would pass me my largest silver teapot?"

Sam looked around the room, found it on the shelf, and stood to grab it. When he offered it back, she said, "Thank you. And oh, my dear, there is great suffering your near future."

Sam blinked. He was a hunter in a school of witches and wizards guarded by beings that sent him into deep depression; of _course_ there was suffering in his future. Did she think to scare him?

"Now, I want you all to divide into pairs. Collect a teacup from the shelf, come to me, and I will fill it. Then sit down and drink, drink until only the dregs remain. Swill these around the cup three times with the left hand, then turn the cup upside-down on its saucer, wait for the last of the tea to drain away, then give your cup to your partner to read. You will interpret the patterns using pages five and six of _Unfogging the Future_."

Sam ended up paired with Blaise. Getting so close to the fire and its incense had started a headache behind Sam's eyes, and he drank the tea fast to try to get his fluids up. He and Blaise swapped cups, and Sam stared down at it.

"Okay," he said, "this part here, that's an oval...maybe an egg? So happy changes. And then the circle - completion? And then the other half is a bunch of lines, which means...a journey. And wings, so either a bird or an angel...so either bad news or good news. You'll be happy to go on a journey and you'll finish successfully, and some kind of news is coming." Sam threw Blaise a self-deprecating smile. "Got any summer plans?"

"Not yet I don't," he said. "And yours is...a bird? Er, there's no 'bird' listed, just types of birds, so we'll come back to that." He rotated the cup a quarter turn and said, "A knife. 'Hidden enemies and betrayal', according to the book, unless this is a dagger, in which case - er - be careful. How cheerful." Sam stifled a laugh, and Blaise rotated the cup again. "Erm, that's an arrow, I think, which means 'bad news', and I think that's a walking egg? Or maybe a turtle? Erm, the egg in the book doesn't have legs, so it's a turtle. You have much hard work ahead."

Sam couldn't hold back his snort of laughter, which drew Trelawney's attention. "Let me see," she snapped taking Sam's cup from Blaise's hands. "A crow, meaning bad news. A knife - look out for betrayal from those close to you, my dear. An arrow means bad news will fly to you, and the turtle means you have much work to do before you may rest. The skull...you must be careful. Dear me, this is not a happy cup." She turned it once more and paled, sinking into a nearby chair with her hand to her heart. "My boy, you have the Grim!"

Sam glanced at Blaise, who suddenly looked worried by their professor's antics. "The grim?" he asked.

"Yes, my child, the grim! It is an omen of death; you must be very careful going forward."

Sam very nearly laughed. He'd already died once, and he spent his summers flirting with it.

She turned the cup once more. "Rosemary. Memories of the past will mar your future."

Mirth faded. How had she known about his occasional lapses in reality?

She handed the cup back to Blaise and took Blaise's cup from him. "An egg, a circle, an angel, and lines. My dear, you will go on a happy journey and receive good news."

When she was on the other side of the room, Sam whispered, "I feel gipped."

Blaise grinned at him. "Wanna try for a happier cup?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snape suggested Sam ask Lupin for dementor lessons mostly to screw with Lupin and see how long it took Sam to figure out he was a werewolf.


	3. Flight of the Fat Lady

After the first Care of Magical Creatures lesson had gotten off to such an interesting start, it was a bit of a let-down to go to Hagrid's hut on Friday afternoon and end up poking lettuce down a flobberworm's throat. Hagrid had apologized profusely when he'd first seen Sam, and Sam had reassured him (loudly and repeatedly) that it wasn't Hagrid's fault. The flobberworms continued for the rest of the month and well into October. 

"Why would we _want_ to keep them alive?" Sam overheard Ron ask Harry near the end of September, and he had to agree. The best thing to be said was that they could do the lesson one-handed so he could keep a hand on Millie, Theo, Blaise, or Pansy. Contact was still the only way he'd found to lessen the dementor's effect on him.

By contrast, Defense Against the Dark Arts continued to improve. After the boggart, they moved on to Red Caps, which were tiny, nasty goblins that feasted on the remains of battles or spilled blood. Then they started on kappas, scaly simians who lived in water and tried to strangle anyone who intruded on their territory.

Sam's tea leaves and palm readings continued to spell out death, doom, and misfortune for him. His classmates could find no hope in his hands or mugs, and Trelawney didn't try very hard to find it for them.

The tale of Neville facing the boggart and forcing Snape into his grandmother's clothes had spread throughout the castle. When Sam had first heard it, he'd wondered if Neville had really faced so little that a teacher was his worst fear. After the next potions class, Sam revised that theory: Snape truly was a terrifying sight to behold.

Arithmancy continued as the first class had, with formulas and explanations of energy. They began the Seize and Pull Spell in Charms and moved onward to turning teapots into tortoises in Transfiguration. In their first class, McGonagall had shown her Animagus form and lectured them on Animagi in general; Sam had hoped that meant she'd be teaching _them_ how to become Animagi, but that hope had been dashed quickly and ruthlessly. He checked out books from the library instead and debated asking McGonagall for help, ultimately deciding to wait until he'd read as much as he could on the subject.

His nightmares continued, and became, if possible, even more vivid. One night he dreamed that the dementors swarmed the field in a Quidditch match where it was pouring rain, and the despair he felt upon waing sent him to the common room wrapped in the comforter to sit as close to the fire as he could and eat a hunk of chocolate, purposefully leaving his knives behind. The next saw him in a dormitory with red bed hangings and a tall man with long dark hair and a knife searching for something. Still another had Sam pressing frantically against Millie's neck, blood soaking his hands as he screamed for help. The worst of them all replayed the scene with the boggart, this time with his father's words: _You thought you could escape? You don't deserve escape, you useless little fairy. This is what happens when you care about people._ And then the fire. He jerked awake covered in sweat over and over again. He rarely got more than two hours of unbroken sleep a night. When he snapped at Millie for something he'd usually laugh about, he finally gave in and went to Pomfrey.

She clucked over him. "Oh, of course you're having nightmares, with the dementors and your history. Everything I can give you is addictive, though."

So turned away, Sam looked to the library for help and found a spell that promised to wipe conscious thought for four hours. He was tempted, but no - he couldn't face the thought of purposefully knocking himself unconscious. If someone else got attacked, he didn't want Snape to come get him and be unable to take him up. He resorted to going to bed earlier and waking up later in an effort to get more sleep, even if it was broken. He had moderate success, which meant he was getting just over five hours a night.

The first Hogsmeade weekend was on Halloween. Sam stared at the notice, then at Blaise. "Are they joking?" he asked incredulously. "The last two years there's been a troll and a basilisk _inside the school_ on Halloween. How much you wanna bet we get attacked by a tribe of giants? Or the convict everyone's talking about?"

Blaise grinned. "I'm not stupid enough to take that bet."

"First-years with brain damage aren't stupid enough to take that bet," Theo said dryly. He put his hand on Sam's arm, making his stomach flutter. "C'mon. Let's go to dinner."

On Halloween Saturday, Sam woke and dug in the bottom of the trunk for the meager amount of money he had saved from the allowances given to him in the summer for supplies. All told, he had four sickles and seven knuts. He put two sickles in his pocket and pushed the rest of the money back to the bottom of the trunk before he filched some of the chocolate from the common room and joined the rest of his year for breakfast. It had been two months since the hippogriff incident, and Draco still refused to look at him.

Even so, he joined the ring of Slytherins that formed around Sam in a tight bunch to go through the front gates. In fact, he took point, with Crabbe and Goyle flanking him. Millie and Pansy each took one of his hands; Theo had a hand on the back his neck. He felt his face heat in embarrassment, but he got stupid and reckless just on the grounds, and he wasn't keen to lose consciousness when he passed the two dementors at the front gates.

"Oy! You lot!" someone called. "Whatcha doin' all bunched up like that?"

They turned as one to see the Weasley twins hurrying toward them, shit-eating grins on their faces. Percy, Ron, and Hermione were with them.

"The dementors," Pansy said. "It's better if we're touching."

"And Sammy's in the middle," one of the twins teased.

Sam saw red. "Do _not_ call me that," he snarled, hands clenching into fists. Their eyes got wide, and they looked at each other significantly. His friends, too, looked surprised.

"What's your problem with that nickname?" Percy asked.

Sam scowled. "My brother called me that."

"So why can't anyone else?" he pressed.

Sam saw Ron and Hermione both fingering their wands, biting their lips, and felt Millie and Pansy grabbing his hands again. He took a deep breath and said, "I'm in a different hemisphere than the one I grew up in. You figure it out."

"Okay," one of the twins said loudly. "Perce, you just lost talking privileges. Sorry, Sam. We're going." The five of them hurried off.

When they were out of earshot, Theo relaxed his grip on Sam's neck. "I didn't know you had a brother," he said lightly.

"Yeah, well. Had is the operative word there," Sam said, feeling the loss deeply again. Dean wasn't dead, but he might as well be. Sam would never see or talk to him again.

"Sorry," Blaise said sympathetically.

"It's fine. So. Hogsmeade. We going?" he asked with forced cheer.

"Lead the way, Draco," Pansy said.

"Your wish is my command," he said with great dignity, making the rest of them dissolve into giggles. _Laughing with Draco Malfoy,_ Sam thought. _Who knew he had a sense of humor under that stick?_

As they got closer to the front gates, they drew together more tightly. Everyone, even Draco, was holding _somebody's_ hand. First Sam's chest went numb, then his arms, then his legs. Reality blurred; he heard screaming, a man shouting, "Take your brother outside! Fast as you can, Dean, go!" over the roar of flames, and he forced himself to walk on. There was a flash of a dark hallway, a toddler's face, and then it was gone. The screaming faded into faint fire engine sirens, and then that, too, was silent.

"Everyone okay?" Pansy asked shakily. Everyone nodded or answered in the affirmative.

"I have chocolate," Sam offered. "Let's just get a little further away."

"Yeah," Crabbe agreed dully.

When they were ten minutes from the gate, Sam pulled the chocolate from his pocket. He'd cast a Cooling Charm before he left, so it hadn't melted. He broke it up and passed it around. The now-familiar warmth spread through him. When they were finished, they kept going, relaxed now. Millie and Theo each grabbed one of his hands. Sam was pretty sure they knew the dementors weren't affecting him anymore, but he didn't mind. He liked holding their hands.

The first place they went was Zonko's, the joke shop. They scattered, pointing out pranks and giggling to each other. Sam grinned when he saw the fireworks. "You're such a pyro," Theo said fondly.

"At least I didn't set my teapot on fire in McGonagall's class," he shot back.

They hit Honeyduke's next. Sam examined the sugar quills in amazement. The Blood Pops and Cockroach Clusters struck him as belonging more to Zonko's, but then, this country considered blood pudding to be an acceptable food. It was probably just a Brit thing.

They were giving out free samples of fudge, and Sam took one happily. It was fantastic, buttery and chocolatey and nutty, and Sam fought the impulse to blow a sickle on a quarter-pound of it. He only had two of them for the day, and he really didn't want to spend so much on a sweet treat when he had so little to begin with.

He did, however, spend two knuts on butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, which seemed to be Hogsmeade's equivalent of a bar. There were more species in there than Sam had ever seen coexist peacefully, and it took every drop of his John Winchester-trained discipline to keep from putting his hands on his weapons. He kept them on his mug instead. When he took a sip, he restrained himself from gulping the whole thing down. It was sweet and buttery and vanilla-y, and warm, it was the best thing he'd ever tasted.

When they finished their drinks, the Slytherins wandered back out into Hogsmeade. They spent a little time in Dervish and Banges, the equipment shop, and Scrivenings, the stationary store, but there was little in there to interest them.

It was nearing five in the afternoon by now, and so they set out back to school, clumped together again. Theo and Pansy held his hands this time, and Millie put her hand on his lower back. They passed the dementors, and Sam again forced himself to walk forward on numb legs through the sound of adults screaming. This time he saw his mother on the ceiling, and he almost fell. Millie and Theo hauled him up and half-carried him, not that he noticed.

They set him down at the base of a tree near the lake. Pansy picked up a stone and tossed it; soon, she and Blaise were in a contest to see who could skip one the farthest. Theo and Millie sat next to Sam.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"It's fine," Millie said, stroking his palm. "We - well, we don't know _what_ makes it so bad, but we know it's bad for you."

Sam gulped. "My mother was killed when I was very small," he said quietly. "I saw it happen. Those dementors, they - I never remembered before -" His voice cracked. He hadn't remembered any of it, but that didn't matter. What mattered was convincing them he wasn't so weak the dementors affected him despite having few hardships.

"I'm sorry," Theo said quietly.

"It's fine. I didn't - I didn't know her very well." Or at all. "I just - I wish I had more memories than watching her die."

Millie put an arm around him and leaned against his shoulder. "Your dad didn't talk about her?"

"No," Sam whispered. "She - she was killed by a wizard, so when I started showing signs of magic…" He trailed off, letting them fill in the blanks. "Anyway. The feast should be starting soon. We should get inside."

Theo and Millie didn't mention it again, for which he was grateful. He knew they'd learned more about his family in that one day than they had in more than two years of friendship, but there was a limit to what he could talk about, and they respected that. Pansy and Blaise did, too; Sam had no doubt they'd heard what he said by the lake.

Sam served himself a little of everything and ate slowly. He drank a cup of hot chocolate, which had quickly become a mealtime staple this year, and then switched to pumpkin juice. He very carefully avoided looking up at the flaming streamers that soared over his head; they reminded him far, far too much of the boggart.

Blaise grinned at him when the desserts replaced the main food. "Nothing happened this Halloween. Guess you were wrong."

Sam rolled his eyes. "There's time. Watch, the Gryffindors will go up to the tower and that convict will attack one of them. Probably Harry Potter."

They all groaned. "His name's Sirius Black," Pansy told him.

Sam grinned unrepentantly. "I know."

Theo threw one of the red-and-black striped candies at him; he caught it in his mouth, to a round of applause and the realization it was hard peppermint. Draco grinned at him, then quickly looked away when he realized Sam had seen. What was his _problem?_

The ghosts soared through the walls and did aerial formations for a short while. Nearly-Headless Nick, the Gryffindor house ghost that had been Petrified the year before (and Sam didn't want to ask how they'd treated him with the Mandrake Restorative Draught), did a short skit on his dismally demonstrated decapitation. Everyone cheered and wolf-whistled.

Then they headed off to the common room, but no sooner had they settled in front of the fire than Snape strode in. "To the Great Hall," he ordered. When the students just looked at each in confusion, he snapped, "All of you! Now!"

They muttered and started walking back up. Sam heard a seventh-year complain, "I _just_ got out my NEWT revisions, he couldn't have come earlier?" A first-year muttered darkly about the stairs. The third-years remained silent, as did most of the others.

They reached the Great Hall to find the other houses there, too. The Gryffindors looked angry and scared; the rest of them just looked confused.

"The teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle," Dumbledore announced. Flitwick and McGonagall closed and locked every door in the Hall. "I'm afraid that for your own protection, you will have to spend the night here. I want the prefects to stand guard over the entrances to the hall" - Sam saw Aria and Leo, now seventh-years, look at the rest of the house sharply - "and I am leaving the Head Boy and Girl in charge. Any disturbance should be reported to me immediately - send word with one of the ghosts."

He turned to leave, then turned back around. "Oh, yes, you'll be needing…." He waved his wand vaguely, making the tables fly to the edges and stand up. A first-year Hufflepuff was yanked clear by an older Ravenclaw. Dumbledore waved his wand again, and purple sleeping bags filled the hall. "Sleep well," he said, and left, closing the door behind him.

"I knew it," Sam said. "I _knew_ it. It's Halloween, of _course_ something happened. Look at the Gryffindors." They were talking excitedly with people from other houses. "I'm gonna find out what's happening." He cut out from his group of friends and made his way over to the Gryffindor part of the hall. "Hey, Ginny - Ginny!" he called. She turned to face him. "What happened?"

"The Fat Lady's been attacked," she said.

"Who?"

"The painting to get into our common room." Ginny sniffled. "She was attacked by Sirius Black."

Sam blinked at her. "Sirius Black is in the castle attacking people?"

"He attacked a painting - do you think he's hurt anyone?"

"I don’t know," he said. Her eyes filled with tears, and he pulled her into a hug, partly so he could whisper into her ear without being overheard. "I'm armed. If he comes in here, you've got the person who killed a basilisk right near the door and the prefects and teachers on alert. You'll be fine."

She stepped back. "Thanks. You should get back to your friends - they look like they don't like you talking to a blood traitor."

"Hey, I'm a Muggle-born from another continent." Sam shrugged. "It's probably more that they don't know you well. They're a little overprotective. Sweet dreams, Gin." He jogged back to his friends, not really recognizing that he'd just given out another nickname. "Sirius Black," he said when he was in earshot. "He attacked the Gryffindor common room."

They all glanced at each other, but it was Blaise who said, "Sam, mate, you sure you're not a Seer?"

Sam forced a laugh. "Let's hope not. Can you imagine me as Trelawney?"

"Everyone into their sleeping bags!" Percy yelled. "Come on, now, no more talking! Lights out in ten minutes!"

The third-year Slytherins staked out a patch near a door. Sam took the bag closest to it and burrowed inside. He was unreasonably cold all of a sudden.  
***  
Over the next days, the school talked of nothing but Sirius Black and how he'd gotten inside. Some people swore he could disguise himself, others that he'd flown in, still others that he'd bribed the dementors somehow.

The weather turned a particular brand of nasty Sam had only ever encountered in the American northeast. It rained constantly, the temperature dropped, and wind blew the rain into pouring sideways. It was miserable. Sam cast warming charms on himself and his friends repeatedly whenever they had to leave the castle. He also taught them the charm he used to waterproof his clothing, so at least they didn't need to wring out their clothes when they entered the greenhouses or made it to Care of Magical Creatures.

Even with the awful weather, Sam was talked into going to the Quidditch match. Draco would be opposing Harry as Seeker, and everyone wanted to see the result. When they'd spelled each other with the charms that had quickly become standard practice for them, Theo and Millie took his hands to lead him down to the Quidditch field. The wind buffeted them harshly, both on their way down and once they were seated. They got there early enough to claim a corner in the back, protected from the wind on their backs and right, but it almost didn't matter. They reapplied the waterproofing charm to each other's backsides - Sam flushed when he did Millie's, head suddenly uncomfortably close - and then to the bench where they sat. It took four of them casting at once to dry the bench off enough to be comfortable sitting on it.

They were situated by the time the match itself started. Once more, the third-years had formed a circle around him. Millie and Theo were to either side, Crabbe and Goyle in front of him, Pansy and Blaise behind him. All of them had a hand on him somewhere, even Crabbe and Goyle, who reached back to rest a hand on his ankles.

He was easily the luckiest kid in the history of the _world_.

It was a hard-fought game, from what Sam could see. The Bludgers and Quaffle were blown all over the place by the wind. People were bumping into each other left, right, and center - sometimes their own teammates, sometimes the opposition. The commentary, once more by Lee Jordan, was overpowered by wind and thunder, so they had only the vaguest idea of the score or what was happening.

A whistle cut through the gale: someone had called a time-out. Sam shook his head. "Any idea what's going on?" he yelled to Theo.

"Slytherin up by ten," Theo yelled back. "I think Draco's seen the Snitch once or twice, but he might have been feinting to get Potter to hurt himself."

They took the chance to reapply the warming and waterproofing charms, which had started to wear off, and had just finished when the whistle blew again. Crabbe and Goyle had both proved surprisingly adept at the charms.

The game went on. Sam caught glimpses of the Quaffle being tossed around, the bright red of it the most noticeable thing on the field. The Gryffindor team, in maroon, was slightly less visible, and the Slytherins' dark green rendered them almost impossible to see.

Sam was steadily getting colder. He applied more warming charms to his clothing and tucked his wand away again after checking to make sure nobody else wanted a reapplication. The sky got darker and darker; by one in the afternoon, it was almost as dark as a cloudy night on a new moon. Conversation had faded to be entirely about the game, and even that was getting less common.

Cold seeped deep into Sam's bones, and he started seriously considering his knives again, or climbing over Theo. He was high enough; he could make this count-

 _No!_ This wasn't him, this was the dementors - where was the anger, he'd forced himself to become angry the last time, that had kept him safe right up until Draco had insulted the hippogriff - but why should he care about being safe? Why should he give a shit about anything?

He heard screams, and he tensed. "I - I think-" he croaked.

"What?" Millie yelled over a fresh peal of thunder, leaning closer.

"I need to go back inside," Sam yelled back. "I'm not-"

He fell silent, staring at the field in mute horror. There were easily a hundred dementors there, pouring onto the field, and Sam heard the screams again, heard his father screaming at someone to take him and run, saw the fire, felt phantom pain in his leg where he'd been bitten by the basilisk-

Blessed, blessed darkness washed over him, and he fell into its depths without a struggle.


	4. Return to the Chamber of Secrets

He woke to a flurry of voices, some high-pitched, some low, all quiet. He opened his eyes to the now-familiar ceiling of the hospital wing. 

"Sam," Millie said, sounding relieved.

"You were right last time," Theo said shakily. "We _are_ getting tired of seeing you in here."

He sat up. "So what happened?"

"The dementors got to you," Blaise said. "You started twitching, and then you passed out."

"Fantastic," Sam grumbled. He glanced to his right to see the Gryffindor Quidditch team. "Harry, too?"

"Fell fifty feet," Draco said dismissively. "Dumbledore caught him."

Sam did a double-take. He was still in his Quidditch robes. So were the Gryffindors, for that matter. Everyone was splattered with mud, though most of the Slytherins were dry.

"The match?" he asked, mostly out of a lack of other topics.

"Rematch next weekend," Draco answered quietly.

A sudden _thunk_ made Sam jump. Madam Pomfrey was using a small hammer to break a massive hunk of chocolate into smaller pieces. She gave large pieces to Sam and Harry and smaller ones to the others.

"I'm keeping you both overnight," she snapped.

'Overnight' turned into 'the entire weekend'. Sam and Harry weren't allowed to leave until Monday morning, which they were both less than thrilled about. They both jerked awake repeatedly from nightmares. Sam didn't ask Harry what his were about, and Harry returned the favor. Sam had noticed that his head hurt badly after some of the dreams, including the one with the man searching a Gryffindor dormitory with a knife.

He and Harry did talk about other things, however. Sam regaled him with tales of hunts when neither had visitors; Harry told him what had really happened at the end of their first year. He also complained about his broomstick's destruction at the metaphorical hands of the Whomping Willow.

At long last, they were released to go down to breakfast. For the first meal in over a month, Sam avoided eating anything chocolate, being thoroughly sick of the taste after a weekend of having it almost literally shoved down his throat at every opportunity.

Arithmancy passed as it always did, as did Divination. They were still working on flobberworms in Care of Magical Creatures, in which the Slytherins surrounded him and refused to break ranks, and turning teapots to tortoises in Transfiguration. Tuesday's Potions was entirely theory. In Defense, they moved on to hinkypunks, smoky creatures with lanterns that hopped about on one foot. "He lures travelers into bogs, where he leads them off the path, waits until they drown, and eats them. He's a scavenger, essentially," Lupin told them. The hinkypunk pushed itself against the glass with a repulsive squelching noise.

When they were dismissed, Sam hung back. The Quidditch match had jogged his memory of something Snape had suggested to him in the hospital wing just after his first Care of Magical Creatures class: _I would also advise asking your Defense teacher to teach you the Patronus charm, which will repel the dementors._

"Can I do something for you, Sam?" Lupin asked cheerfully when Sam reached his desk.

Sam took a deep breath. "The dementors," he said. Lupin's face fell. "Can you help me learn to repel them?"

Lupin cocked his head. "Why do you want to learn?"

Sam bit his lip. "They - I mean, they affect me more than anyone but Harry Potter. We've both passed out. I think Dumbledore has told you what I was raised to do?" Lupin nodded, eyes sharpening. "I don't like being helpless," Sam admitted. "I want to be able to protect people, and the dementors...I can't protect _myself_ against them, let alone anyone else."

Lupin looked like he was considering for a long moment, and then he said, "I'll help you learn the Patronus charm. But only if you avoid starting a fight with Harry," he added sharply.

"We get along okay," Sam said.

Lupin nodded. "We'll start next term, then. I have a lot to do before the holidays….I chose a very inconvenient time to fall ill."

"Thank you," Sam said gratefully.

Lupin smiled. "Get to dinner, Sam."

Sam did. Afterwards, he slipped away from his friends and took the picture of his mother to the top of the Astronomy Tower. He confessed everything to her, including the dirty secret that he wished he didn't know how she'd died, or at least didn't _remember_ her screams and the fire.

Sam didn't attend the Quidditch rematch at the end of the week. Gryffindor won soundly by well over two hundred points, according to his friends, who had gone without him. Draco was in a foul mood. He also didn't go to the second of the year, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, at the end of November. Ravenclaw won by more than three hundred.

Two weeks before the end of the semester, Flitwick decorated his classroom with glittering lights that turned out to be live fairies. Around the same time, the weather lightened to clear skies and frosty mornings. Sam, long since resigned to taking long walks indoors rather than running outside (and nursing resentment for that change in routine), took to routes with a lot of windows. Other than class when he was surrounded by people, he hadn't left the castle for his own protection in _months,_ and he missed being able to be outside in the fresh air without people talking to or touching him. Bitterness swelled whenever he allowed himself to dwell on the lost opportunities, so he tried not to dwell very often. Anything to avoid giving the dementors another inroad.

He also finished a book on Animagi he'd checked out of the library. According to the book, all Animagi had to register with the government, and Sam was having second thoughts about asking McGonagall for help. Maybe it was being raised paramilitary that did it, but Sam didn't trust the government - _any_ government, magical or Muggle.

There was another Hogsmeade trip the very last weekend of the semester, and Sam turned down the opportunity to go with his friends. He had no interest in passing the dementors again, and really, there was nothing he could afford. He'd love to get his friends presents, but he didn't have the funds.

The night before the trip, Sam and Crabbe were the last ones awake in the common room. Even the older students had gone to bed, probably since it was so close to the end of the semester they didn't have much homework and they wanted to get to Hogsmeade early. Sam himself had a Charms essay to finish - he'd been seized with recklessness _again_ during Herbology, and had managed to screw over three other students in the process of sabotaging herself. Sprout had assigned him detention, and he hadn't gotten back until curfew, when the others were already done with it. Crabbe was doing something with a notebook.

Sam finished the essay around one in the morning. He rolled up the parchment, put the pen in his bag (three years later and he still had a bunch left from Hermione's gift second semester of first year, he was so glad she'd done that for him), and stretched. He glanced at Crabbe and hesitantly asked, "Whatcha workin' on?"

Crabbe looked up at him, then back down. "Nothin'."

"Are you blushing?" Sam asked incredulously. "C'mon, you can tell me."

Crabbe studied him a moment with his deep-set eyes and then turned the notebook around so Sam could see. He moved a little closer and blinked: It was himself, in profile, bent over a piece of parchment on the table. Crabbe had even put in the little details - the way his hair stuck up at the back sometimes, the mole on the side of his neck, the fine scars on his hands. "This is really good," Sam said, impressed.

"Thanks," Crabbe grunted. "I have - er-" He pulled the notebook back and flipped a few pages before he passed it back.

It was Sam, Theo, and Millie, sitting next to each other. They were laughing and eating. Breakfast, Sam thought. His eyes traced the lines of his friends; he knew the look of them as well as he knew how he himself looked. "Wow," he said quietly.

"I know people - think I’m - stupid," Crabbe said slowly. "I'm not. Just - talking. S'hard. So spells - the words - hard. Goyle's - same."

Sam felt crushing guilt. "I'm sorry."

"Not your - fault." Crabbe forced a smile. "People - un-der-es-ti-mate. Don't learn 'til - too late."

"Making it an advantage," Sam said, nodding. 

Crabbe grinned at him, more natural this time. "'Zackly."  
***  
The day after the Hogsmeade trip was the first day of Christmas break. Sam hugged his friends goodbye at the front door, nodded cheerfully at Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy, and turned to go…somewhere. The smile slipped off his face. Really, where was there for him _to_ go? He was deathly tired of the common room and the library; all his friends were gone; he couldn't go out on the grounds without becoming a danger to himself or others.

He clenched his hands into fists, anger welling up. It wasn't _fair._ He wanted to go for a run, or to get in a fight, or - he wanted to make something _hurt_ and _bleed. God_ , he was screwed in the head. Maybe his father had been right about him.

He spent the break wandering around the castle, opening doors he'd never been through before and peeking behind tapestries. He found a hidden passage behind a mirror in a bathroom, but it was caved in. He found a passage from the Potions classroom to the Owlery, between the Transfiguration and Charms rooms, from the third floor to the sixth, and even one from the hall outside the Slytherin common room to the hall outside Gryffindor's. He very carefully avoided the towers - he was depressed enough anyway, he didn't need to remove the walls and his only defense against the dementors. Especially not at a great height; if the recklessness seized him when he was three steps away from a fall….

He forced his thoughts away and went back to opening doors.

The Christmas decorations had been put up, holly and mistletoe strung along the corridors and suits of armor enchanted to glow brightly. The Great Hall was decorated with a dozen Christmas trees, and the scent of pine filled the air. The Slytherin common room had been decorated just as thoroughly despite the fact that only Sam had remained behind. Once he found a great armory on the seventh floor and spent an enjoyable few hours throwing knives and shooting, keeping himself in practice, but when he went back it was gone.

Once he'd run into Filch and Mrs. Norris over the course of his exploring. He'd smiled cheerfully and said, "Hello!"

Filch had half-smiled and said, "You staying out of trouble?"

"Always," Sam said with a straight face, startling a wheezy laugh from the man.

Mrs. Norris butted his leg and cried, " _Manh!_ " Sam knelt to scratch her ear; she purred and tilted her head into his hand. "Having a good break?" he asked Filch politely.

"Good enough," he said. "No students filthing up the castle for me."

"I'm glad," Sam had said, and meant it.

He did make it a point to make it to at least two meals a day, usually breakfast and dinner, though he didn't eat much. He just didn't have an appetite. Besides, once he'd cut out his runs, he'd started to gain weight. The strength exercises he did in the morning and the walks he took around the castle at night only did so much.

On Christmas morning, Sam woke from another nightmare to a headache and a pile of boxes in the middle of the room once more. His friends had gotten him books, on subjects ranging from alchemy to zoology, and Sam paged through them, interested. Draco had also sent him new mittens; Crabbe had included a sketch of all eight of them, happy and laughing with their hands around each other's shoulders. Sam smiled, spelled it to prevent fading or tearing, and folded it to slip into his pocket. He spent the morning writing letters to each of them and to Lianne and Christina, whom he told about the hippogriff and classes in general.

By the time he was finished, it was time for lunch. Well, dinner, as they called it here. He reached the doors just as Harry, Ron, and Hermione did, and he smiled at them. They smiled back, though Ron's was more of a grimace, and Hermione said, "Any other Slytherins staying?"

"No," Sam said. "Just me."

"Eat with us, then," Harry said.

Sam blinked, remembering his first year, when he'd been turned away and mocked. "You sure?"

"Yeah," Hermione said. "Please, Sam?"

A smile crept over his face. "All right."

When they opened the doors, it turned out to not matter: There was only one table in the hall. "Merry Christmas!" Dumbledore said, beaming. He was surrounded by Filch, Flitwick, McGonagall, Snape, Sprout, and two timid-looking first-years, a boy and a girl, both Hufflepuffs. "As there are so few of us, it seemed foolish to use the House tables. Sit down, sit down!"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat at the very end. Sam sat catty-corner to Hermione, and the Hufflepuffs sat next to him.

"Crackers!" Dumbledore said happily, offering one end of the silver cylinders that seemed ubiquitous around Christmas to Snape, who took one end and pulled. The cylinder broke apart with a crack and revealed a witch's hat with a stuffed vulture on top.

Sam instantly looked at Hermione, wide-eyed, biting his lip and trying not to laugh. He'd heard of Neville's boggart, of course; the whole school had. But reminding Snape of it on Christmas seemed cruel. "So that's what they are?" he whispered instead.

She offered an end of another to him, and he pulled it, revealing a set of wind-up teeth. When they looked back up at the teachers' end of the table, Dumbledore was wearing the hat, his usual blue one sitting on the table.

"Dig in!" he said, smiling at them all.

Sam took a slice of turkey and some carrots; he really wasn't hungry. Snape eyed him, as he'd done so often during meals recently, and Sam tried to ignore him. "Having a good break?" he asked the Hufflepuff next to him.

No sooner had he asked than the door opened. They all turned to look, and saw Professor Trelawney gliding toward them. She was wearing a glittery green dress.

Dumbledore stood. "Sibyll! This is a pleasant surprise!"

"I have been crystal gazing, headmaster," Trelawney said in her usual mystical, far-away voice, "and to my astonishment, I saw myself abandoning my solitary luncheon and coming to join you. Who am I to refuse the promptings of fate? I at once hastened from my tower, and I do beg you to forgive my lateness."

Sam glanced at Hermione, who looked as unimpressed with her speech as Sam himself was, and quickly away.

"Certainly, certainly, let me draw you up a chair," Dumbledore was saying. He sketched one in midair; it revolved for a moment before thunking itself down neatly between Snape and McGonagall - probably the two with the least patience for Trelawney or her subject. Clearly, Dumbledore played as many mind games with his staff as he did with his students.

Trelawney did not sit down; instead, she glanced around and screamed. "I dare not, Headmaster! If I join the table, we shall be thirteen. Nothing could be more unlucky! Never forget that when thirteen dine together, the first to rise will be the first to die!"

"We'll risk it, Sibyll," McGonagall snapped. "Do sit down, the turkey's getting stone cold."

Trelawney lowered herself slowly, gingerly, as if expecting an earthquake to strike at just that moment.

McGonagall poked a spoon into a nearby bowl. "Tripe, Sibyll?"

"But where is dear Professor Lupin?" Trelawney asked, stubbornly ignoring McGonagall.

'I'm afraid the poor fellow is ill again," Dumbledore said. "Most unfortunate that it should happen on Christmas Day."

"But surely you already knew that, Sibyll?" McGonagall asked coldly, her eyebrows raised. Snape smirked nastily at his plate, as though Trelawney had forgotten something important, and the air drove itself from Sam's lungs.

Professor Lupin had been sick four times, each time near the end of the month. Sam counted - there was almost a month between each of his absences. They'd had Astronomy each time he'd been sick, and each time had been a full moon. Something flashed before his eye - Lupin rolling up his sleeves to demonstrate with the Red Cap, revealing scars that were clearly old and clearly from an animal. At the time, it had meant nothing to Sam, just scars on a body. But now, they meant _everything_.

Holy hell. Lupin was a werewolf.

"Are you all right, Sam?" Hermione asked, sounding concerned.

"Oh - oh, yes," he stammered. His face must have given away some of his thoughts. "I - I - I'm fine. Fine."

The teachers hadn't noticed. Dumbledore was saying, "I doubt that Professor Lupin is in any immediate danger. Severus, you've made the potion for him again?"

"Yes, Headmaster."

"Good. Then he should be up and about in no time. Derek, have you had any of these chipolatas? They're excellent."

The boy Hufflepuff shook his head, blushing furiously, and took the sausages with shaking hands. Sam sat among the rest of the castle, slowly relaxing at being around people again, and laughed at jokes told by everyone but Snape and Trelawney.

When the desserts appeared, the Hufflepuff girl looked at him. "Is it true?"

Sam paused in the middle of serving himself an apple tart. "Is what true?"

"Did you really kill a basilisk?"

Sam winced, remembering that day. "Yes. Harry, Professor Snape, and Professor Flitwick were there, too."

"Don't short-change yourself," Snape said silkily. "Filius and I were otherwise occupied, and Potter did little."

Harry glared at Snape, but admitted, "He's right. I just told Sam when he'd destroyed both eyes."

"How?" the boy - Derek - asked, eyes shining eagerly.

After that, Sam really didn't have a choice. "Well, um, the first thing we had to do was figure out what was hurting people," he said. "It took a few months in the library, but we figured out it was a basilisk-"

" _You_ figured out it was a basilisk," Snape interrupted.

"Fine. _I_ figured out it was a basilisk. See, in the States, where I'm from, we're taught basic fighting as a matter of course." He glanced at Snape as he said it, remembering his first conversation with the man. Snape had told him the teachers would back him in that particular lie. "So I figured out it was a basilisk. At the same time, Hermione here was Petrified. So was one of the Ravenclaw prefects. Professor Snape and I went to the staff room, and Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Hagrid volunteered to accompany us into the Chamber of Secrets. Harry came along, as well."

"They needed a Parselmouth to get inside," Harry explained.

Ron slapped his arm. "Don't advertise that, mate."

"You're a Parselmouth?" the girl asked, eyes wide with fear.

"Yeah, but don't worry." Harry smiled comfortingly at her. "I only use my powers for good."

Sam bit his lip to keep from laughing. "Right. So we get to the Chamber's entrance and find out Professor Dumbledore has been temporarily removed from Headship, leaving Professor McGonagall in charge."

"Hogwarts cannot be without a Head," McGonagall said. "If it is, the school itself will rebel."

"In 1678, the doors sealed themselves shut," Dumbledore continued. "No one could move in or out until a new Head and Deputy were appointed."

"I convinced Minerva to wait outside," Snape said, bringing the focus back to the story. "Potter opened the Chamber's entrance, and we found Hagrid was too large to fit inside. Filius and I went down first, followed shortly by Winchester and Potter."

"It took a while to get there," Harry said. "There must have been _miles_ of tunnels down there, and the basilisk shed its skin, so every so often we'd think we were coming up on the basilisk and it would be empty skin. It was nerve-wracking."

"We reached the Chamber intact," Flitwick squeaked. "It was then we saw who was controlling the basilisk."

"Who?" the girl breathed.

"Voldemort," Harry said. "He'd left part of himself in a diary, and he'd possessed a girl."

"My little sister," Ron cut in angrily.

"He'd forced her to set the basilisk free," Flitwick said. "She had no control over any of it."

"She was unconscious when we reached her," Snape said. "Filius and I focused on subduing the Dark Lord, but he had already set free the basilisk."

"I took cover behind a pillar, told Harry to duck, and started spelling," Sam said. "Cutting Curses, to destroy the eyes. It kills by looking; if it doesn't have eyes, the only weapon left is its mouth. That was the plan all along - destroy the eyes and dodge the mouth until we could destroy the brain." He saw it in his mind's eye - the frantic spelling, the fear, the _pain_ ….

Harry took over the narration. "I stayed with Ginny, trying to wake her up. Sam fought the basilisk."

"I got a Cutting Curse in at the roof of its mouth, but I didn't dodge fast enough," Sam said. "It - it fell on top of me. The fang went - went through - through my leg. I got my wand in its eye and managed another Cutting Curse."

Ron set down his spoonful of red Jell-O.

"He lost consciousness then," Snape said heavily. "Filius and I removed the fang, and I destroyed the diary. We tourniqueted the leg and sucked the poison out. He was _very_ lucky to have survived."

"I am," Sam said. "Were it not for Professors Snape and Flitwick, I'd be dead."

The Hufflepuffs looked at them in undisguised awe. Sam fought back the memory of the man who'd called him an abomination and said, "Anyway. The basilisk's dead now. That's what matters." He cut a piece of his apple tart and swallowed briskly.

"Can we see the Chamber?" the girl asked.

Sam paused and looked around. His surprise was mirrored on everyone else's face.

Harry slowly put down his utensils. "I can open it," he said.

"I'll go down with you," Sam said. "No telling what else is down there."

"Shall we make it an outing, then?" Dumbledore asked brightly. "After dinner tonight, when we've had a chance to let this excellent meal settle in our stomachs?"

Sam slowly finished his apple tart and stood to leave. When Trelawney shrieked and said, "My dear! You are marked for death!" Sam looked at her and said wearily, "Everyone dies." Leaving her with her mouth opening and closing helplessly and the other students repressing sniggers, he turned and left.

If he was going back into the Chamber, he wanted a nap. He laid down and stared dully at the canopy of his bed until he was sucked down.

_"The rat. Give me the rat."_

_"You can't have Scabbers!"_

_"That's not Scabbers, Ron - watch -"_

_A rodent squeaking in fear - a scream - a man whimpering -_

Sam woke with a start, jackknifing to sitting, breathing hard. There was wetness trickling down his face and an unmistakable metallic tang in the back of his throat. His nose was bleeding. He stumbled to the bathroom and splashed water on his face.

What had _that_ been about?  
***  
They traipsed to Myrtle's bathroom, where they could hear sobbing coming from a toilet; they all ignored it, though the first-years looked a bit concerned. Harry hissed, and the sink fell back to reveal the tunnel.

"I shall go first," Dumbledore said genially, sitting on the edge and pushing off. One by one, they followed him. Everyone but Filch and the first-years lit their wands.

"How do you do that?" the girl asked when they were a few minutes' walk into the tunnel, nodding at the lighted end of Sam's wand.

"Say lumos," he told her. "What's your name, by the way?"

"Denise. _Lumos._ " Her wand lighted, and she grinned. "Cool!"

"Isn't it?" Sam smiled, but it was a little strained. Lumos was one of the few spells nearly everyone got on their first try, since it didn't take much more than the word and a vague desire for light. His eyes shuttled back and forth across the tunnel. "I think the first skin is coming up just ahead."

"It's here," Flitwick called back, raising his wand.

"Wow," Derek blurted, hurrying ahead. "This is a big snake."

"Twenty feet or so. Small, for a basilisk," Sam told him. "The Chamber's ahead some."

"This isn't the chamber?" Denise asked.

"Nah. This is, like, the entryway."

When they reached the dead end, Harry hissed at the wall, and it slid apart again. The thirteen of them stepped through, even Trelawney looking around in interest. Sam went to the right wall and kept pace with the others as he examined the stone and the gems pressed into it.

Harry walked beside him. "This is bigger than I thought," he said, voice low.

"Think there are any other surprises?" Sam asked just as quietly.

"God I hope not." He flashed a quick smile, which Sam returned.

"Whoa," Denise said, voice echoing loudly. They'd reached the statue.

"That's where the basilisk came from," Sam said, his own voice rumbling around the stone. "The statue's mouth opens. I got off a Cutting Curse as it fell."

"Then he took cover and kept spelling - it was behind this pillar, wasn't it?" Harry asked, patting the last in the row.

"Yeah," Sam said, "but on the other side."

"Right. Sorry, it's a bit confusing now."

"I understand. And if you look a bit further over" - Sam paced to the other side, raising his wand to make the light fall further - "here it is."

The basilisk was withered and shrunken in decay. Its teeth were still outstretched, fangs scratching the flagstone floor. There was a large reddish stain on the ground beneath it, and Sam had to look away.

"Is that where you got bit?" Derek asked.

"Yes," Sam said flatly. "Went right through me." He crossed his arms, suddenly cold.

"What did it feel like?" Denise asked eagerly.

Sam stared at her until she was shifting uncomfortably. "It hurt," he said finally. "A foot-long fang shatters your leg and spreads poison everywhere, it hurts."

She looked away, blushing furiously. Derek asked, "How'd you think of a Cutting Curse?"

Sam glanced up at Snape and half-smiled. "The books said the eyes killed. A cutting curse is the only way I knew at the time to destroy them."

"At the time?" Derek asked.

"Yeah. Now, of course, I know of the Balloon Spell, a popping spell - a warming charm, actually, might have worked with enough power, but I wasn't going to experiment when there were five lives at stake immediately and the rest of the school could have been shut down. If it was just me, I might have, but not-"

"I would prefer you not spread your pessimism to the younger years," Snape interrupted. "It makes them harder to control."

There was a faint sneer on his face, but Sam understood his true point. In this room, in almost this spot, he'd seen how terrified Snape had been at the prospect of losing one of his students. Now, surrounded by memories of the day, Snape's words carried a different weight: _Don't talk like that. It scares me._

Sam nodded once, tightly, too small for the first-years to see. Snape nodded back, just as small, acknowledging that Sam had received the point instead of his words.

Dumbledore spoke a word, and the entire Chamber filled with light. Sam murmured, "Nox," and shut off the light at the end of his wand. Around him, everyone was doing the same.

"Where was Ginny?" he heard Ron ask Harry.

Harry answered, "Just here…" and walked him to the bottom of the statue. 

Hermione was studying a wall; Sam joined her. "Enjoying the view?"

"Something like that," she said. "Suppose these are _real_ gems?"

"Probably. From what I've heard, Slytherin wasn't one to skimp."

Hermione reached out to pry one from the walls, and Sam caught her wrist. "Better not. Who knows if these are attached to a spell? I've had enough surprises down here."

She smiled. "I suppose you have." She hesitated, then asked, "When did you start working on the basilisk case?"

"Right after the first attack," Sam told her. "I found 'basilisk' in November, but there was no mention of Petrification, so I went by it and kept looking. It wasn't until the day you were attacked I found a book in the Restricted Section. Once I knew that, well - you worked out it was using the pipes, too. Did anyone ever tell you McGonagall's order to the teachers?" She shook her head. "It was - and this is a direct quote - 'make sure no students remain in the hallways, and warn them to look around corners with mirrors. Better Petrified than killed.'"

"She actually said that?" Hermione squeaked, half-laughing.

Sam grinned in response. "She didn't finish that last sentence, but yeah. 'Better Petrified than'."

Hermione glanced back at the bloodstain and shuddered. "And you almost died."

"I _did_ die," he corrected. "My heart stopped, my breathing stopped, my brain stopped. For all intents and purposes, I was dead for a few minutes. Snape and Flitwick brought me back."

Hermione appraised the Potions master critically. "He really does take care of his Slytherins, then?"

"Yeah. But if I tell you any specifics, he may pickle my liver for later use." Sam grinned at her, and she grinned back.

There was a whole network of tunnels that connected to the Chamber. Flitwick explored them with him, both out of curiosity and to make sure Sam wasn't alone if he was taken by surprise by something else that lived inside them. There were fewer gems and intricate carvings in the tunnels out here, and they all looped around back to the Chamber eventually. One of them led out sixty feet above the floor; Flitwick leaned over to wave and the stone crumbled beneath his feet. Sam had had his wand out and ready to cast since they'd entered the tunnels; he and Dumbledore acted in the same moment to cast Hover Charms on the diminutive professor, who grumbled and flicked his own wand to settle a chunk of stone beneath his feet. Sam cancelled his charm, and Flitwick rose the stone up to meet him. Sam stepped onto it and Flitwick lowered it to set them gently on the ground.

"Any chance you'll teach me that spell?" Sam asked in interest.

Flitwick smiled at him. "In a few years."

Eventually, they did make their way back to the entrance. For the second time that day, Flitwick cast the spell to move stone, and they all rose up the tunnel.

"Is this how we got out last time?" Sam asked Harry.

"You don't remember?" Harry asked, sounding amused.

"I was a little distracted by recovering from _dying_."

Harry snorted and shook his head. "Yeah. It's how we got out last time."

The rock shuddered to a halt at the top of the tunnel, and they all got off. The sink closed behind them, and they all went in different directions. Sam returned to wandering, feeling melancholy. It had been nice to be surrounded by people who almost all knew who he was.


	5. The Patronus Charm

The school filled with people again. Marco, Blaise's little brother, had turned their cat green when he got upset with their father for making him eat his vegetables. Millie grinned and showed them all a picture of her own cat - the one whose hair Hermione had accidentally used for Polyjuice Potion, though only Sam knew that. Draco actually smiled at him and asked, "How was your break?"

"It was all right. Yours?"

"Pretty good."

The day after everyone returned, they had Divination second class. Sam appeared after an unusually enjoyable Arithmancy class - there had been a review game, and Sam had won thirty points for Slytherin. Hermione had won the same amount for Gryffindor, and the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaws had earned five points each. They began a palmistry review that day, and Trelawney instantly informed him that his life line was far too short for him to expect to live much longer. Sam responded by staring at her impassively until she dropped his hand.

After lunch, they trudged down to Hagrid's hut for Care of Magical Creatures. He set them to gathering firewood for salamanders, who ran up and down the flaming logs and produced bright sparks. Sam, Theo, and Millie managed to avoid picking up any wood; they were holding hands again, both to help Sam with the dementors and because they had, quite frankly, missed each other.

After Defense class on Tuesday morning, Sam hung behind to ask Lupin about the Patronus lessons. "Oh, yes...how about...eight o'clock on Thursday, in the History of Magic classroom? I'll have to think carefully about how to do this….We can't bring a real dementor into the castle to practice on."

"And the charm won't work unless there's a dementor?"

"It might, but then you won't have any experience until you need it. I'm sure you know how that plays out." Lupin smiled halfheartedly. 

Sam shuddered, remembering his first hunt. "I do indeed." Then he hesitated, but he needed to know. He glanced behind him - the door was closed, good. "Professor - um - I want to ask you something," he said, biting his lip.

Lupin's face closed off. "You've figured it out, haven't you?"

"I think so."

Lupin sat heavily. "I was afraid of that. What do you plan to do?"

"Nothing," Sam said.

"What?"

"Nothing," he repeated. "You haven't hurt anyone since you've been here, and Dumbledore probably wouldn't have hired you if you'd ever hurt anyone before."

"Mm. No, I haven't. Professor Snape is kind enough to make the Wolfsbane Potion for me monthly. I can curl up in my office and sleep. It's a recent invention...previously, I had to lock myself away and hope for the best. May I ask you something?"

"Of course." Sam had already been to breakfast; missing lunch wouldn't raise concern with Snape.

"Most hunters, from what I understand, begin in their late teens or early adulthood. Why did you start so early?"

Sam looked down. Lupin was the best teacher he'd ever had, and had proven himself kind before Sam even knew his name. Sam could trust him with a version of the truth. "My father...went...not insane, maybe, but he got _obsessed._ We all saw my mother got killed, though I was lucky enough to forget until this year. He wanted to track down her killer, and so my brother and I, we were...liabilities, maybe. Small children and hunting don't always mix. He tried to hide it from me, for a few years, but then I started doing accidental magic, and…." He trailed off. Lupin didn't need everything spelled out for him. "Anyway. I managed to keep from causing problems for a year before he started training me. I was seven. My first hunt was at eight. We built up a reputation….It's why I'm in a different hemisphere to be taught. None of the American schools would take me. My family was too much of a threat, and so was I."

"Have you talked to them?"

"No. My father's promised to kill me if we ever see each other again."

It surprised him - both the confession and the dead tone in which it was delivered. It surprised Lupin, too, that much was clear.

"I'm sorry," Lupin said sincerely.

Sam shrugged. "It's been years. The sting's faded some. And Professor Snape can be kind, and he makes sure I'm taking care of myself."

"Does he really?" Lupin asked incredulously. "Would not have expected that from Severus."

Sam smiled. "I wouldn't've, either, before the basilisk last year. But he forced me to take breaks from the books in the library and spend time with my friends instead, and if I don't show up to two meals a day I get a lecture. Twice in a week gets me detention."

Lupin laughed. "Ah, a punitive system. I might have known. You should get to lunch. Don't want Severus to lecture you."

Sam grinned and took the hint. He scooped up his bag from the floor and said, "I've already been to breakfast. I'll see you Thursday, Professor Lupin."

"Thursday," Lupin confirmed.  
***  
On Thursday night, Sam left the library for the History of Magic classroom at five to eight. He lit the lamps with his wand, leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes. He was _exhausted_ ; the nightmares were getting worse. The night before he'd been inundated with the same long-haired man changing a rat into a man, stabbing the hangings of Ron Weasley's bed, and turning into a dog to wrestle a werewolf. Each had been accompanied by a pounding headache; the last, around three in the morning, had had the added fun of a nosebleed. Crabbe had gotten up to use the bathroom, seen the blood, and become concerned. He'd stayed with Sam in the bathroom despite Sam's repeated requests that he go back to bed.

Other nightmares, fragments of memories and worries, had snaked in and out among the others. He'd had a hard time sleeping because of those, too, but at least he hadn't woken up with the desire to drill into his skull to relieve the pressure.

A little after eight, Harry had joined him, followed minutes later by Lupin, who was carrying a large crate.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"Boggart," Lupin said. "I've been scouring the castle for days and found it in Mr. Filch's filing cabinet. Your biggest fear is a dementor, so we'll be able to practice on him. We'll just - er - have to make sure Sam stays further away from it than one of us."

"Why? What's your fear?" Harry asked him.

"None of your business," Sam said, tone friendly.

Harry winced and turned back to Lupin. "So - the dementor charm."

"It's called the Patronus Charm," Lupin told them both. "It's well past Ordinary Wizarding Level and is immensely advanced. When it works correctly, it conjures up a Patronus, which is a kind of anti-dementor guardian - it acts as a shield between you and the dementor."

Sam had the mental image of cowering behind a fifteen-foot golden shield and frowned.

Lupin continued, "The Patronus is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things a dementor feeds upon - hope, happiness, the desire to survive - but it cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the dementors can't hurt it. I must warn you both that this might be too advanced for you. Many fully-qualified wizards have difficult casting it."

"What does it look like?" Harry asked.

"Each one is unique to the wizard who conjures it."

"And how do you conjure it?"

"With an incantation, which will work only if you are concentrating on a single, very happy memory."

Sam tried to think. What was a happy memory? His first Christmas here, when he'd gotten the scarf he still wore?

"Right," Harry said, sounding determined.

"The incantation is _Expecto patronum._ "

" _Expecto patronum,_ " they both said.

Nothing happened.

"Focusing on your memories?" he asked kindly.

Sam nodded and refocused. He remembered how it had felt; he'd opened the packages, seen the scarf and socks and gloves, known that his friends of four months had wanted him to be warm and happy. " _Expecto patronum._ "

A silver wisp shot from his wand. Sam smiled.

"Very good," Lupin said.

Beside him, Harry was muttering, and he finally managed to get a cloud of silver. "Did you see that? Something happened!" he said excitedly.

"Very good," Lupin said again. "Right then - ready to try it on a dementor?" Sam hastily took four steps back, concentrating hard on the scarf and gloves.

Lupin opened the chest, and a dementor shot out. Sam was drenched in inky darkness. "Ex-" he forced through a throat that felt like it was swelling shut. " _Expecto - Expect-"_

The screaming had started again, along with the heat of fire and the screams of a squeaking mouse as it slowly changed to human-

"Harry! Sam!"

Sam startled back to awareness. He was lying on a cold classroom floor, and his head was pounding.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Sam mumbled. Lupin handed him a chocolate frog and when back to trying to rouse Harry. Sam bit off a leg; by the time he'd finished half the frog, he could feel all his extremities and Harry was coming round.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah." Harry pulled himself to sitting and leaned against a desk.

"Here." Lupin handed Harry a frog. "Eat this before we try again. Sam, finish yours." His eyes warned Sam to do as he was bid. "I didn't expect either of you to do it your first time. I would have been astounded if you had."

"It's getting worse," Harry whispered. 'I could hear her louder this time - and him - Voldemort -"

Lupin went pale. "Harry, if you don't want to continue, I will more than understand-"

"I do!" Harry snapped, color returning to his face as he finished the frog. "I've got to! What if the dementors turn up at our match against Ravenclaw? I can't afford to fall off again, if we lose this game we've lost the Quidditch Cup!"

Sam shook his head in disbelief. Was Quidditch all wizards cared about? He'd be happy just to never have to hear his mother die again.

"All right," Lupin said, a little reluctantly. "You two might want to select other memories, happier memories, to concentrate on. Yours weren't strong enough this last time."

Sam thought hard. What else had made him happy? Lianne and Christina, they would do. Nothing made him happier than spending time with those two and being allowed to complain about the sucky parts of hunting. They didn't enjoy getting viscera out of their hair any more than Sam did.

He focused on the two of them - Lianne's gentle guidance, Christina's wicked sense of humor, their shameless love for each other - and reset position four steps behind Harry.

"Ready?" Lupin asked.

"Ready," they chorused. Lupin lifted the lid again. The dementor swooped out and took a breath. Sam was plunged into ice water and struggled to keep sight of the women's faces. " _Expecto patronum,_ " he said, and white fog came from his wand. Harry collapsed in front of him, but the white gave Sam a boost in confidence and bought him some time. _Come on,_ he told himself, _Lianne and Christina, remember. "Expecto patronum!_ " he cried again, and this time a blurry shape came out.

The dementor halted its advance. Sam felt like his legs were made of jelly. He struggled to keep focus, but despite his best efforts, the Patronus faded into mist, easily waved away. Lupin stepped forward rapidly and forced the now-full moon into the crate. Sam sank into a chair, his respect for his professor's courage doubling. To walk closer to a dementor, even a fake one...Lupin was braver than Sam had given him credit for.

Lupin tossed him another chocolate frog. "Excellent," he said with a smile, leaning down and slapping Harry's face. "Excellent, Sam! Definitely a start!"

Harry groaned, and Lupin stood up. "I heard my dad," he said vaguely.

"What?" Lupin asked sharply.

Sam was forgotten in the ensuing conversation, which he could barely keep track of. He focused on eating his frog and finished it before he tuned back in.

"One more go," Harry was saying. Sam stood himself, fixing the women in his mind's eye. He had the feel of it now, sort of a rabbiting swell of lilac pushing out from his sternum. He had yet to find anyone who viewed spells the way he did, but this way _worked_ for him, so he didn't question it.

The crate opened for the third time, and Sam focused on Lianne and Christina and the feel of the spell and said, " _Expecto patronum._ "

The shape was larger this time, and less blurry. It wasn't distinct enough to make out what it _was_ , but it was definitely there. Harry managed a similar result, and together, their Patroni pushed it back into the crate.

"Very good!" Lupin cried, beaming at them. " _Very_ good!"  
***  
One night at the end of January, Sam discovered a way to avoid nightmares quite by accident. He and his friends had been sitting in front of the fire, working on a Charms essay. It was very late at night, and they fell asleep. Sam woke with a nosebleed and pounding head three hours later from the same dream of a man attacking a dormitory, but it was the longest bout of uninterrupted sleep he'd had in months. He went to the bathroom to clean his face and then returned to the pile of limbs. He woke for the day with the rest of them, more well-rested than he'd ever been.

"You're in a good mood," Millie said over breakfast.

Sam actually laughed. "I slept well."

"Really?" Theo asked. "Cause I wasn't going to say anything, but you thrash a lot."

Sam's smile faded. "I've been waking you up?"

"A little bit," Theo said. "Not often."

Millie nudged Theo's side. "Crawl into bed with him. Maybe that'll help."

Theo elbowed her back, dark face flaming. Sam, too, went bright red. He suddenly wondered what it would be like to _have_ Theo in bed and shoved his thoughts away.

To his surprise, Theo _did_ crawl into bed with him that night, and it was the best night's sleep he'd had in a while. He only woke up twice, once from a nightmare and once because Theo slapped him in the face. It quickly became part of their routine - as did Sam waking up early to have some alone time in the bathroom and wrestle with what to do about the feelings awakening in him for two different people.

His dementor lessons progressed. After that first time, his Patronus had slowly gotten more distinct. Harry's had, as well, though a month later they still couldn't tell what they were supposed to be and couldn't drive off the boggart-dementor without help.

"You're expecting too much of yourselves," Lupin told them kindly. "You've come a tremendous way in a short amount of time, you really have. Adults have a difficult time with this spell. For thirteen-year-olds, indistinct Patroni really are huge achievements."

Harry worried his lip for a moment before he asked, "What's under a dementor's hood?"

"Well," Lupin said slowly, "the only people who know are in no condition to tell us. The dementor lowers its hood only to use its last and worst weapon." He paused. "They call it the Dementor's Kiss. It's what dementors do to those they wish to destroy utterly. I suppose there must be some kind of mouth under there, because they clamp their jaws on the mouth of their victim and - and suck out his soul."

Harry choked. "What - they kill -?"

"Oh, no," Lupin said grimly. "They do something much worse than that. You can exist without your soul, you know, as long as your brain and heart are still working, but you'll have no sense of self anymore, no memory, no - _anything._ There's no chance of recovery. You'll just...exist. As an empty shell. And your soul is gone forever, lost." Lupin swallowed. "It's the fate that awaits Sirius Black. It was in the Daily Prophet this morning. The Ministry have given the dementors permission to perform it if they find him."

They sat in silence for a moment, Sam digesting what he'd learned. The world was at once far crueler than he'd thought and far too good for people who would order that fate on anyone.

"He deserves it," Harry said suddenly.

Sam winced. Lupin asked, "You think so? Do you really think anyone deserves that?"

"Yes," Harry said defiantly. "For some things."

"Like what?" Sam asked in disbelief. "Who deserves something so cruel?"

"Sirius Black does," Harry said grimly.

The room dotted itself out of his vision suddenly, to be replaced with the now-familiar sight of the man with a knife stabbing the curtains around a bed - but it didn't end there, no, it continued, and now Sam saw that it was Ron he was attacking, Ron in the bed beneath him - Ron woke with a scream and he bolted, down through a painting of a knight and then along the hallways as the Gryffindor dormitory was thrown into pandemonium - Sam had the very unpleasant sensation of watching two different scenes at once, both moving -

 _God_ his head hurt-

"Sam! _Sam!_ "

He opened his eyes and instantly regretted it. He slammed them shut as the light stabbed deep into his retinas.

"Sam," Lupin said, voice low. "What was that?"

"I don't know," Sam said, because it seemed pretentious to say 'vision'. "But - Harry - your dorm, Ron's the third from the left? Someone's breaking in somehow, I don't know how, but he's got a knife - Ron wakes up before he gets stabbed, but-"

"Slow down," Lupin said firmly. "Can you sit up?"

Gentle hands gripped his arm and raised him slowly. Sam curled himself forward, fisted his hands in his hair, and _pulled_ , trying to remember details, but his head felt like there were spikes being shoved deep inside.

The lights dimmed, and the pain lessened slightly. Hands larger than his own - Lupin's - gripped his and lowered them to his lap. "Breathe," Lupin ordered him. "Try to explain again."

Sam took a shuddering breath. "Sometimes I - I see things that actually happen. I've been seeing this one for a while, when I'm asleep, but - it's never happened when I'm awake before-"

Someone passed him a napkin. "Your nose is bleeding," Harry said.

"It does that," Sam said with a shaky laugh, wiping his face. "Anyway - Harry - I didn't know it was your dormitory, not for sure, but then I saw someone…." He explained quickly, and added, "I'm not sure who it is, but I've seen his face before. Maybe on a newspaper?"  
"When you figure it out, let me know," Harry said shakily.

"Nobody can get into the Gryffindor common room without the password," Lupin said firmly. "It's late. We'll go to Dumbledore tomorrow, ask him to check the protections on the castle."

"You believe me, then?" Sam asked, voice cracking.

"Yeah," Lupin said. "I believe you."

Sam walked around on tenterhooks for the next weeks. As time went on, he began to doubt he'd been right after all. He did continue to have the nightmare-visions, whose repertoire had now branched out to Lianne and Christina facing a nest of vampires unawares. Sam spent a few hours in the library and sent them a letter warning them to be extremely careful around the next new moon, and to stock up on dead man's blood and machetes.

Gryffindor flattened Ravenclaw in the next match, keeping them in the running for the Quidditch Cup, which Slytherin had won the past seven years running. It was then Sam got confirmation that he was right: Sirius Black broke into the castle and attacked Ron Weasley. Sam was questioned by Snape, McGonagall, and Dumbledore the following morning. It was only when he'd sworn to each of them that he didn't know how he'd gotten in that he was allowed to go to breakfast, where new security measures were announced, including a ban on going outside without teacher supervision and trolls patrolling the hallway leading to the Gryffindor common room. Snape sent him a warning look when Dumbledore announced that particular change; Sam shook his head minutely. He didn't have a problem with it as long as they didn't hurt anyone.

Two days later, Neville received a Howler at breakfast. Sam met Hermione outside the Arithmancy door and realized how exhausted she looked. "How ya doing?" he asked her.

She smiled, but it was strained. "Muddling through. You?"

"Same."

At that moment, her bag ripped spilling books everywhere. All five knelt down to gather them and hand them back; Sam raised an eyebrow. "How many subjects are you taking?"

"Oh - all of them," she said, looking like she was fighting back tears.

Sam tilted his head. "All of them?"

"Oh, yes." She lost the battle, and a tear trickled down her face.

Sam stepped closed and murmured, "Oh, please don't cry. The last time I saw you cry I had to kill a troll."

She choked on a laugh, but before she could say anything, the door opened and class began.

There was another Hogsmeade weekend, which Sam skipped again. His friends headed out with smiles and waves; Sam went to the library and spent the next few hours finishing his homework, including a vampire essay for Lupin, and reading up on Animagi. 

They learned Cheering Charms later on in Charms, and Sam endured his classmates' teasing with as good a humor as he could muster. He did fix the feeling in his mind, thinking it might come in useful for the Patronus Charm. 

Just before Easter break, they began the crystal ball in Divination. Theo, Sam, Pansy, and Blaise shared a table again. "See anything?" Pansy asked after ten minutes.

"Someone spilled their candle," Blaise said. "It was red wax. Trelawney wasn't the teacher at the time; it was an old man…."

They all stared at him. "Seriously?" Theo asked.

Blaise pointed at a burn mark on the table. "Somebody spilled."

The third-years were given an ever-increasing amount of homework, and it hit its peak over the Easter break. They had two- to three-foot-long essays due in every class, were expected to master Cheering Charms and turning shoes into shirts, and needed to memorize the procedure to make Pepper-Up Potion. They stared at their books, spread over what had been their table since first year, in dismay.

"I have a thought," Draco drawled.

They divvied up the subjects and took notes for the essays they needed to write, then put the notes on the table. In this way, they could write out the information without cheating and save time on their work. The only class that didn't work for was Arithmancy, which only Sam was taking, but he got around that another way: he met Hermione and the rest of the class in the library after lunch the day after Easter, and they broke the essay topic into chunks to work on that way. By the time dinner rolled around, Sam had completed all his homework and there was a full day left.

The final Quidditch game of the year, Gryffindor against Slytherin for the third year running, approached quickly. The Slytherins faced almost as much enmity from the rest of the school in the weeks leading up to the match as they had when the Chamber of Secrets had been opened the year before, and the third-years walked in a knot around Draco. More than once someone had tried to curse their Seeker while his back was turned.

Sam didn't attend the final match. The consequences of being outside with the dementors, even surrounded by his friends, were too severe for him to leave the castle except for class. The house came trudging back to the common room, no smile in sight. "We lost, then?" Sam asked Pansy.

"Yeah," she said sadly.

June came, bringing with it warmer weather. The table the third-years had claimed was right next to a window, and though Sam knew his friends wanted nothing more than to go laze in the grounds, they contented themselves with watching the squid in the lake through the window. Sam diplomatically went to the library after dinner, so they could go outside without feeling like they were abandoning him, and judging by the tans they began to acquire, they appreciated it.

A week after they'd begun this arrangement, Sam's bitterness was at an all-time high. He wanted to go outside, dammit. He'd been shut inside for _months,_ except for classes three times a week, but then he needed a minder. Even during Astronomy, the dementors affected him, and he'd had to grip someone's arm to keep from throwing himself over the edge more than once. Passing windows, now open, was a risky proposition: sometimes he'd be fine, and sometimes he'd become reckless. It was as if prolonged exposure to dementors had made him more sensitive - certainly he hadn't known there was anything wrong on the train until he'd actually _seen_ one of the dementors, and now he couldn't step wrong without being affected

He was sick of the library, and sick of school. He wanted to be outside, without needing a friend to keep him from hurting himself or someone else. He wanted the sun on his face and the wind in his hair.

He changed course and instead went to the empty History of Magic classroom, where he practiced the Patronus Charm until it was finally refined enough to make out what it was: a wolverine. It was far easier to cast the spell without a boggart-dementor breaking his concentration, and he thought he might be able to go outside with it by his side. It wouldn't be wise to _advertise_ the Patronus, but...maybe he could take up running again.

He opened all the windows to the classroom and tried again. It took more effort; even here, with most of the effects blunted, the dementors were bringing him down. Barely enough for him to consciously notice, but enough to affect his Patronus, which blurred again. He persisted, working up a sweat as he forced himself to work through it, to learn to cast it clearly despite the despair in the air. Three days after he'd begun, he managed it, and he smiled in triumph.

He could do this.

On June first, Sam received his exam schedule. Monday was Transfiguration followed by Charms; Tuesday was Creatures, Potions, and Astronomy; Wednesday was History of Magic and Herbology; Thursday was Defense Against the Dark Arts and Divination. His final exam, Arithmancy, was on Friday morning and the final exam anybody in the school would be taking.

Transfiguration and Charms were both easy for Sam, who had mastered turning a teapot full of boiling water into a tortoise and Cheering Charms. Harry overdid his Cheering Charm, and Ron went into hysterics and had to go to another room for just over an hour before he returned to perform his own spell. The written portions of the exams were similarly easy. Care of Magical Creatures was a joke of an exam; all they had to do was keep the flobberworms alive for an hour. They spent the exam period chatting amongst themselves, since the worms flourished when left alone. A few people halfheartedly poked lettuce down their throats, but quickly gave up.

Potions necessitated brewing a Confusing Concoction, which they had covered in December. Sam swore quietly and watched Millie from the corner of his eye; he knew the general steps, he told himself, but it was the proportions he was a little mixed up on. Astronomy was at midnight on the tallest tower. Sam left after forty-five minutes, choking back tears and desperate to get inside before he completely lost control and jumped off the roof or bludgeoned somebody with his telescope.

History of Magic's exam was a free-response essay on medieval witch-hunts. Sam, who had been thoroughly drilled in the subject before he'd even come to Hogwarts, had no problem filling three sheets of paper with facts. After lunch, they traipsed to the greenhouses, which were baking in the hot sun, to prove to Sprout they could transplant Venomous Tentacula and knew which herbs were best for which uses. They took off their robes and ties and opened the necks of their shirts because of the heat, but the Slytherins stuck close to Sam, who was freezing, numb, and depressed by the time they made it back to the castle.

Lupin called him into the office that night to discuss the next day's exam. Sam left, cold and worried. How could he make his boggart amusing?

The exam itself was held outside, in the sunny grounds. It was an obstacle course, which they'd have to cross one at a time. They had to wade though a pool with a grindylow, find their way across a marsh infested with hinkypunks, and then battle a boggart. The last task had been the only one Sam had gotten a heads-up on, likely because Lupin didn't want to have to talk a screw-up like Sam down from a panic attack.

The Gryffindors went first. Harry did well, as did Seamus, Dean, Parvati, and Lavender. Ron got confused by the hinkypunk and sank hip-deep into the muck. Hermione burst from the trunk containing the boggart, crying hysterically. Ron and Harry led her away to calm her down, and the Ravenclaws took their turns. All of them made it through with the exception of Terry Boot, who got caught by the grindylow and had to restart.

The Slytherins went last, Sam the last of them all. The moment he broke the grips of his friends, cold seeped into his chest and froze his sternum.

"Anytime, Sam," Lupin said patiently.

Sam took a deep breath and plunged forward, passing the grindylow and hinkypunks easily. He paused outside the trunk, took another deep breath, and entered. Instantly he was faced with his father with yellow eyes, his family pinned to the ceiling and burning.

" _Riddikulus!_ " Sam cried, focusing hard, and the boggart turned into a campfire fueled by figurines. Not exactly amusing, but a far better cry than watching the people he loved die. He climbed out, flushed with success, and felt like he got punched in the chest. His triumph was sucked away.

Blaise and Millie took his hands, Crabbe settled a broad palm on his neck, and Lupin smiled at them to dismiss them.

After a quick lunch, they went to the Divination tower. The rest of the third-years who'd elected to take the course were already up there; Neville had his book open to crystal balls and was desperately asking everyone if they'd ever seen anything.

She called them up, one at a time, until Sam and Harry were the last two to go. "Sam Winchester," she called after Goyle had cleared the ladder.

"Good luck," Harry told him.

Sam nodded and climbed up. His head began aching as soon as he entered the room, a not uncommon occurrence, and he absently wondered if something was stimulating his foresight or if he was just allergic to her incense. The room was swarthy with heat, and Sam picked his way over to sit down in front of Trelawney, who was attired in her usual colorful assortment of gauze, tulle, and scarves.

"Good day, dear," she said warmly. "If you would kindly gaze into the Orb? Take your time, now...then tell me what you see within it."

Sam laid his hands flat on the table and stared into the fog, willing it to lift. He'd caught glimpses before, dark shapes and colorful flashes, but nothing concrete. _Come on,_ he thought. _Please. I need to pass, please, let me see-_

The pain in his head spiked and the fog in the ball cleared to present him a picture. "It's the grounds," Sam said softly. "There's a dog, running, and Ron Weasley, there's a tunnel beneath a tree. Harry and Hermione follow him" - the scene changed - "there's a house, and Sirius Black. Sirius Black was the dog, and now Lupin's there...Snape...the rat, Ron's rat, is becoming a man….They have him bound, they take him out, and Lupin - he - he's a werewolf...He attacks them, Black tries to keep him away from the students…."

The fog closed back up and Sam straightened, screwing up his eyes against the pain, now ebbing away to a dull roar.

Trelawney looked disappointed. "Well, if that's the best you can do….I'm sure you tried….You are dismissed."

Sam opened his mouth to argue, then gave up. He would be proved right eventually, he was sure. It may take months, but it would happen.

"Good luck," he told Harry wearily when he reached the landing.

"Thanks."

Their Arithmancy exam the next morning was almost disappointingly easy, after all the time they'd spent studying. Sam returned to the common room following the exam to find a party in full swing.

It was still going at seven, and a seventh-year let out a loud howl and called, "Full moon! Lunar madness!"

Lupin had transformed in the vision, and Sam's head shredded itself. He dropped, unaware of his body, and watched - Snape was striding across the grounds - Sam was running behind him, trying to catch up, begging him to return to the castle - Lupin hadn't taken his potion, he was dangerous - Snape yelled at him that that was why he was _going_ , he couldn't allow students to be hurt-

"Sam!"

The room had fallen silent. The third-years were standing around him, less affected than anyone else.

"You had a seizure this time," Blaise informed him shakily. "Aria went to get Pomfrey."

Aria, of course, the prefect, _their_ Prefect, the one who had shown them the common room.

"No," Sam said. "No. Snape. I need Snape." He lurched to standing. "I need Snape," he repeated, then turned and stumbled out of the common room.

Millie and Theo caught up with him easily. "Come on, Sam," Theo said, "I don't think you're supposed to move after a seizure."

"Wasn't a seizure," Sam said, moving with determination. "Vision. It's been happening, mostly when I'm asleep. Tonight - people are going to _die_ , tonight, unless I can talk to Snape." He banged on the office door; Snape didn't answer.

Sam swore. "Get back to the common room," he ordered. His head was clearer now, and it barely hurt. "He's on the grounds. I need to catch up with him - warn him-"

"Then we're coming with you," Millie said.

"No!" Sam snapped. "Look, I can't - have either of you fought before? A real fight?" They both shook their heads. "I have. That basilisk last year, and more times other than that I can't tell you about yet. I can't be worrying about you. It'll distract me, and people will die. Please. Get back to the common room."

"We'll distract you?" Theo asked.

"Yeah." Sam pointed down the stairs. "Please. I need to talk with Snape."

Millie sighed. "Let's go, Theo," she said. They were half a flight down when she called, "I wish you'd trust us!"

Sam barely heard her, too busy sprinting up the stairs. " _Expecto patronum_ ," he muttered absently when he was in the foyer. His indistinct Patronus appeared; he cancelled the spell and did it right. His wolverine looked up at him, and he opened the doors.

Snape was a spot of black hurrying toward the Whomping Willow. Sam ran after him, the burn in his legs combating the chill of the air. His Patronus kept pace, a miniature space heater of good feelings.

He was sixty feet away when Snape cast a spell to immobilize the tree and slipped between its branches. "Professor!" Sam bellowed. Snape didn't appear to hear.

Sam slid down the gap in the roots and the slope it hid, getting dirt in his teeth. He lit his wand and got up. It was impossible to run down here; the tunnel was too short, and there was too much a risk of being hit in the head or tripped up by a root. Sam went as fast as he could, but he had long since lost sight of Snape by the time there was a patch of light ahead, after a long section of tunnel that sloped upward. Sam burst out, a Shield Charm on his lips, but there was nobody in the room he'd come out into.

There were voices coming from inside, and so he hurried to the hallway and up the steps as quickly as he could without making noise.

"An Animagus," someone was saying, "by the name of Peter Pettigrew."

"You're both mental," someone else said.

"Ridiculous!" said a girl's voice. It was probably Hermione.

"Peter Pettigrew's _dead!_ " someone else cried. " _He_ killed him twelve years ago!"

There was nothing to be gained from hiding anymore, and even if there was, his strategic thinking was still struggling to come online. Sam stepped into the room. "Hello," he said casually.

"Sam," Lupin said civilly.

The unfamiliar man - Sirius Black - growled. "Who are you?"

"Sam Winchester," Sam said coolly. "And _you_ are Sirius Black, and - unless I'm mistaken, which I doubt - there's a rat in this room who's an Animagus?"

"How do you-" Black began, but Lupin cut him off.

"You saw it?"

"I did," Sam said.

"How-"

"You haven't taken your Wolfsbane, Professor," Sam said frankly. "That's what does it - I don't know what happens later, but Black turns into a dog to keep you away from the students. The other one turns back into a rat, I think. It's not very clear."

"You're a Seer," Black spat.

"Not quite," Sam said, eyes casting around. Snape should be in here; biding his time, probably, waiting for the most opportune moment. "But I'm not sure...there's only so much my brain can take at a time. I had a seizure, when I saw what happened tonight. Scared my entire house. Pomfrey's probably there by now, but I'm not."

"And so you came looking," Lupin said. "And your Patronus, too. It's corporeal now?"

"I practiced on my own," Sam said with a shrug. "I figured, at least on the grounds...it's not up to being close to a dementor, but it helps in open space."

"Can we just get on with it?" Black snarled, lurching at Ron.

"We owe Harry the truth," Lupin said, catching Black with an arm around his chest. Then his eyes sharpened on Sam's face. "Your nose is bleeding."

Sam plugged it with his sleeve. "If's nuffink."

"If you say so," Lupin said. "At least sit down."

Sam hesitated, but did as he was told, sitting next to Ron, whose leg was clearly broken. He listened as Lupin told them of being a werewolf, of his friends becoming Animagi for him. Black jumped in occasionally, to clarify, but not often. Sam listened as they spoke of the Fidelius Charm, which would keep a house safe from all but the Secret-Keeper. The Potters' was supposed to be Black, but it had been Pettigrew instead, and then Pettigrew had framed Black.

He also heard of the supposed prank played on Snape, and he closed his eyes in horror at the thought. When he opened them, he was flat on his back, and Lupin was almost laying on top of him to check his pulse. "Shit," he said.

Lupin muffled a laugh. "Indeed. You really shouldn't be walking. You can at least dismiss your Patronus."

Sam shook his wand, making it dissolve into mist. He felt a little better, at least. Ron dug into his pocket and offered him a chocolate frog, which he took with a quiet, "Thanks." Hermione and Harry pulled him to sitting. Even Black was looking at him with some concern, which was disconcerting. It reminded him of the time he'd been kidnapped by a pack of werewolves who had held him for three days when he was nine, planning to kill him at the full moon. They, too, had been worried about his health - sick prey was barely prey at all. Dean, John, and Caleb had found him two hours before moonrise, and the four of them had killed everyone in the house. It was the first time Sam had killed a monster while it was still human, and that night still haunted him.

"Can we do it yet, Remus?" Black urged.

"Very well," Lupin said. "Ron, the rat. Give me the rat."

"You can't have Scabbers!" Ron cried, cuddling the rat to his chest.

"That's not Scabbers, Ron - watch -"

"No!"

"The spell won't hurt him," Lupin said gently, but there was an undercurrent of frustration in his voice. "If he's an Animagus, it will force him to revert to his human form. If he's a true rat, he won't be affected. I swear it to you."

Ron hesitated, then turned the rat over. There was a creaking floorboard by the door, and Sam glanced over and sent a shadow of a wink. Odds were good Snape was hiding there, somehow invisible. He should stay hidden until the last possible moment; Sam could handle it, and so it was important Black didn't get an accurate count of possible adversaries in the room.

Everyone else was too absorbed in the rat, now dangling by its tail from Lupin's hand, to notice either the sound or Sam's movement. Lupin and Black both pointed - there was a flash - and a balding, overweight man grew out of the rat to lay in a crumpled heap on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way Sam views spells (all the way back to Year One!) is actually based on a pain management technique taught in CBT. Basically, you visualize the pain as a shape and a color, then focus on shrinking it down. Doesn't do anything for me, but apparently it helps a lot of others.


	6. Peter Pettigrew

The man - Peter Pettigrew - was exceptionally short. His hair was thin and nearly transparent, no discernible color to be found. Though he was overweight, he looked like he'd lost a great deal of fat in a short amount of time. His small, watery eyes and pointed nose gave him the appearance of a rat - which matched his Animagus. He glanced around the room, as though there was help to be had. Sam, Lupin, and Black stared back impassively; Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked to be in varying stages of shock.

"Hello, Peter," Lupin said pleasantly, breaking the silence. "Long time no see."

"S-Sirius," he squeaked, "R-Remus. My old friends."

Black raised his wand, and Snape chose that moment to make his move. "Pettigrew," he said coldly just as Lupin seized Black's wrist.

"S-Severus!" Pettigrew squealed.

"Moonrise is in twenty minutes," Snape said. "I would suggest we leave before Lupin loses control and savages us all." He flicked his wand; green ropes twined around Pettigrew. He fell to the ground with a heavy thud. "Black, you lead the way," Snape ordered. "I will follow, and then the Gryffindors. Winchester will take the rear. We will return to the castle. Dumbledore and the Ministry may sort this out."

Black made a move, and Snape's wand twitched to cover him. So did Sam's. "Careful, Black," Snape breathed. "There's a hunter in the room who hasn't killed in months."

Black flinched back, and Sam glared at Snape. "I do not go through kill withdrawal," he snapped.

"You as good as," Snape retorted. "Have you thought your recklessness beneath notice over these last months?"

"The boy is a hunter?" Black asked.

"He is," Snape said, sleekly vicious. "It's been last summer since he's killed. I believe it was a werewolf?"

"It's a little creepy you know that," Sam said, wand steady. "You wanna cover the live one and I'll get the turkey?"

The ease with which he was playing off Snape disturbed him a little. He knew this dance as well as he knew his own name; he'd seen it stepped more than once, and had done a turn or two around the floor himself. It had been a while, but he slid into the threatening-casual role as if he'd never left. 

"Of course," Snape said. "Black, if you give me one reason, I _will_ hurt you."

They left in the order Snape had determined. Lupin remained behind. "I'm sorry, Professor," Sam said quietly before they entered the tunnel.

"It's not your fault, Sam," Lupin said tiredly. "Now go. I should cover the opening before I transform...I'm almost sure to scent you all."

Sam slid down into the tunnel, Pettigrew hovering in front of him. The cat Sam had noticed and discarded as a stray jumped into Hermione's arms and butted her head with its face, purring. The opening slid closed behind them, and Sam heard Lupin spelling whatever he'd moved to stay in place.

They had just reached the end of the tunnel when they heard howling behind them. The cat scrambled down from Hermione's arms and slithered out to the front. What it did, Sam couldn't see, but the tree branches stopped moving and allowed them to pass. Sam set Pettigrew down, conjured his Patronus, picked Pettigrew back up, and continued on. Snape sent a Patronus of his own to the castle.

Dumbledore and McGonagall met them at the castle steps. "Mickey G!" Black called happily.

Sam choked on his own tongue, which meant that Pettigrew fell a few inches. McGonagall did not seem amused; to the contrary, she was pale with fury. "Mr. Filch has cleared the hallways," Dumbledore said genially. "We will take them up to my office, and there we will get the full story."

The walk took almost no time at all. Sam's wolverine dissolved on the staircase to the second floor, but nobody noticed but Sam himself.

Sam leant against the wall to the office, only to have Snape glare him into sitting in one of the chairs Dumbledore created. Pettigrew thudded to the ground, none too gently. Black, who had had his hands bound sometime in the time it took to walk to the castle, sat easily in one of the others. Harry, Ron, Hermione, McGonagall, and Dumbledore himself also took seats. Snape remained standing behind Sam's chair, one hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam suddenly thought there should be a mark in the shape of Snape's hand, so often did it settle there.

"Let's hear it," Dumbledore said, and the floodgates opened, the Gryffindors tripping over themselves in their haste to speak.

Dumbledore held up a hand. "I think Sirius should, perhaps, go first," he said, pinning Black to the chair with his gaze.

Sam closed his eyes and let himself drift. He'd heard all of this before; none of it was new. It was out of his hands now. He wasn't even good for security anymore, not with three teachers in the room. Somewhere along the line, that turned into actual sleep.

Snape shook him awake sometime after one. The Gryffindors were standing.

"I am calling the Ministry," Dumbledore said. "I think it unwise for you four to be here when they come to call. With your testimony and Pettigrew's continued grip on life, Sirius should get a fair trial."

Black grinned in triumph. McGonagall smiled thinly. Sam just yawned, far too tired to care about what would happen to people he didn't even know.

Snape walked down to the dungeons with him. "See me after breakfast, before you leave for the summer," Snape ordered. "We have much to talk about."

"Yes, sir," Sam said. 

He slept alone that night.

Theo and Millie gave him the cold shoulder all the next day. Sam sighed and tried to make it up to them in the limited time he had at breakfast. At ten o'clock, though, he said gloomily, "I need to go see Professor Snape."

That thawed them. "You didn't see him last night?" Millie demanded.

"No, I did, but a lot happened. I'll tell you everything later," Sam promised.

The talk he had with Snape could more accurately be described as a chewing-out. Snape reamed him for going out on his own, for chasing Snape, for believing he could handle whatever happened, for being reckless with his life. Sam got the feeling the last was what Snape was truly worried about.

When he'd shouted himself hoarse, Sam asked, "So what's the official story?"

Snape sighed. "Black attempted to sneak onto the grounds at a weak point in the dementors' patrol. You and I caught him and pulled him to Dumbledore's office before he could cause any trouble. The rat on the ground transformed into Pettigrew when he saw us, believing I would have my hands full with Black and you were not a threat. We bound him and took him to Dumbledore's office, as well, where he called the Ministry. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Sam said, imprinting it into his memory.

"Dismissed," Snape said.

Sam repeated the story to anyone who asked. To his friends, who knew his difficulty with the dementors, he finally revealed that he'd been working on the Patronus Charm and cast his wolverine, which sat at his feet suspiciously until Sam waved it away a few minutes later. He begged them to not pass the knowledge around, since it would draw attention and he liked being unremarkable.

Lianne and Christina met him on the platform, next to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. "We had a wonderful time with them this year," Christina told him.

Lianne snorted. "Arthur wouldn't stop asking us questions about rubber ducks. He's an odd one."

"So," Christina said, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "Anything exciting happen since Christmas?"

Sam blew out a breath. "You've no idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> I can't make any promises about when Year Four will come out. It's much longer than any of the first three, and so it's probably going to take me quite a bit longer.


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